


A Memory of Sandalwood

by Andrina_Nightshade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animagus, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Blood, Blood Loss, Dementors, Discussions of medical procedures and hospitals, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Finn Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Finn is a Skywalker (Star Wars), Finn is a potioneer, Interrogation, Lonely Rey (Star Wars), Luke is a patient, Rey Needs A Hug (Star Wars), Rose is a Healer, Temporary Amnesia, but no pregnancy, empathy burnout, healthcare burnout, longing for children in the future, mentions of violence against children, oh my patronus is the same as yours - whatever could that mean?, rey is a healer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27435511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andrina_Nightshade/pseuds/Andrina_Nightshade
Summary: Based on a prompt by the wonderful @galacticidiots...St Mungo’s Healer Rey Niima lives an otherwise ordinary life in a wizarding world under the thrall of growing darkness. But something has always seemed missing in her life.Until, that is, she is brought to the Ministry of Magic for questioning. Why does her Auror interrogator seem curiously familiar…?
Relationships: Finn/Rose Tico, Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 185
Kudos: 248
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection, Ijustfellintothissendhelp, Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BensCalligraphySet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BensCalligraphySet/gifts).



> Dear Fran,
> 
> Your headcanons and prompts are one of the best things about this fandom. They never fail to tug at the heartstrings, or fill a reader with joy, angst, despair or hope - occasionally all at once! I hope that you enjoy this interpretation of one of your prompts.
> 
> Andrina.

_She must have suspected something was wrong the second she tasted firewhiskey in his kiss. He seldom drank - but when he did, it was usually a warming butterbeer in the evenings, or a glass of nettle wine with dinner. Firewhiskey meant he was a bundle of nerves._

_But she did not say anything - perhaps too lulled by the beautiful day they had shared._

_He had procured her a decadent breakfast - all pastries and fresh cut fruit. In ordinary times, he might have baked them himself. But today, every second felt precious, and he had made do with a quick trip to the Muggle bakery on the corner before she awoke. He fed her slice strawberries and melons and crisp apples, and wiped away an errant trail of juice with his tongue._

_Cajoling her out of bed was an effort, but he eventually whisked her to their local park for a walk. The leaves had begun to turn, a shower of orange and golds falling upon them as they walked. The air was heavy with the scent of recent rainfall. Dark clouds lingered overheard but mercifully the weather remained dry._

_They found an empty bench, and drank hot chocolate from a coffee stand. She remarked it wasn’t as good as Honeyduke’s , and he teased over her sweet tooth. Wrapped around each other, they watched a group of Muggle families playing with their children on swings and slides. A wistful breath escaped her, and he read the longing in her eyes._

_“One day,” she breathed, threading her arm more fully through his._

_He swallowed, and nodded. “One day.”_

_Lying to her hurt the most._

_They had listened to Wizarding Wireless Network in the afternoon; unexpectedly, their wedding song came on. She had pulled him up for a dance, and they had twirled and giggled and kissed until they were breathless from exhilaration and laughter._

_He had taken her to their bed, a slow worship with lips and fingers and tongue; whispered words of love into her ear as he moved inside her; cried into her hair as she dozed in the afternoon glow in his arms. So warm, blazing like the sun, his wonderful Rey of light. (She hated that nickname, which meant he used it all the more)._

_He'd made her dinner whilst she tried to playfully distract him with teasing caresses and butterfly kisses. Every second he wrote into his memory._

_The way the firelight caught the hints of red in her hair. The dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. The hitch in her breath as he lavished kisses upon her neck…_

_And then, as she snuggled against him on the couch, her little hand over his heart, he plucked himself from her memories until there was nothing left._

_With one last firewhiskey tinged kiss to her lips, he stole into the night, with the feeling his heart had been ripped asunder._

* * *

When the clock chimed six, Rey awoke with her fingers clutching cold sheets of the empty side of the bed. 

Every morning since moving to this flat, it was the same. She awoke alone - she had always been alone here. No one else ever slept in her bed. But always the emptiness would mock her; her body unconsciously seeking the warmth and familiarity of another.

But, Rey mused as she yawned and stretched to start the day, it wasn’t as though she had ever made much effort to rectify the situation. Work was hard, the hours were long, and with the threat of ever encroaching darkness, no one was really in the mood for dating. She had tried a while ago - even made it as far as a single tepid kiss, but nothing more. Her body seemed to recoil at the brush of her date’s lips against hers. They had parted, and never sought one another out again.

Still, she wasn’t entirely alone in this life. She had her friends, and her job, and-

As if on cue, a bundle of white feathers plonked itself down on her table with the latest edition of _The Daily Prophet_. She let BeeBee nip affectionately at her fingers. The kettle whistles as she cuts herself a slice of slightly stale Cauldron Cake, and one for BeeBee too before he snaffles hers.

Conscience told her to eat some fruit, so she also munches a banana whilst perusing the newspaper - although after a few minutes, she wonders why she bothers. Every issue for the past month had been filled with stories and speculation around the death of Hogwarts Headmaster and controversial figure Qui-Gon Jinn. It was rubbish and nonsense, mostly - barely fit to form the lining of BeeBee’s cage. But still it concerns Rey. 

For even as the headlines were dominated by the lies and minutiae of month-old news, the important and frightening developments were being hidden in the later pages, barely granted the column ink they so badly needed. Like the rise in Dementor attacks over the last month. Or the number of victims of dark curses filling up the beds at St Mungo’s. Even - and bile rises in her throat as she thinks of it - the ordinary Muggle families being attacked, tortured and even killed simply for sport. Every day, more are brought to St Mungo's. Despondency seemed a common affliction among the staff. Even the wonderful, patient, unflappable Rose had been found weeping in a supply cupboard - one that Rey had hoped to claim for her own private breakdown. Instead, the two clung to each other and sobbed for ten minutes before fixing their makeup and going out to face the world and the onslaught once more.

 _The Daily Prophet_ would never lay blame for this uptake in dark arts and wanton cruelty, upon Sidious. It would barely even acknowledge that the deranged and powerful Dark Wizard was still alive, let alone commanding forces which were waging their quiet war on the Wizarding World.

Anger bubbled within Rey. But she could not fight a war on her own; all she could do was try to heal those left broken and scarred.

She dresses for work. Her clothes only occupy half of the wardrobe - she contemplates treating herself to some new robes from Madame Malkin’s next time her errands take her to Diagon Alley, or even simply spreading out the items she already owned to fill the - but she puts both ideas to bed for the time being. Today will be long, and arduous. All she wants to do before work is relax.

Autumn is her favourite time of year - away from the oppressive heat of summer before the creeping damp and cold and darkness of winter. The crisp colours, the faint scent of damp in the air, memories of escaping her parent's mouldy and booze-soaked flat for the lush grounds and _freedom_ of Hogwarts, homework and detentions be damned. And, on dry mornings such as this, she likes to sip her tea on the balcony before she has to go to work.

For her perch, Rey sees a black fox prowling in the garden. It has been several months since he last appeared - sometimes he stays for weeks, and she might even leave some scraps out to feed him (much to the chagrin of her neighbours); sometimes he appears but once in a blue moon. 

This fox isn’t an ordinary urban vulpines. Aside from his dark colouring - a rare phenomenon she knows - there is something shrewd and almost _human_ about him. (She thinks it’s a _him_ , but for what reason she cannot elucidate even to herself). He reminds her of the Muggle children’s tale, Reynard the fox. So that had become his name in her mind - Reynard. It matches her name because he is hers.

Reynard looks up at her - the balcony is enchanted to conceal from her Muggle neighbours that it’s almost as large as the flat itself, and blooming with flowers both magical and mundane, so she knows instinctively that he shouldn’t be able to actually _see_ her; but even still his eyes seem focussed on her.

Once, the notion had gripped her that he might not be an ordinary Muggle fox but an Animagus. As soon as the thought had taken root, she had sought out a list of all known Animagi. Indeed, there was one fox on the list - the name associated had R.I.P. written in brackets.

Reynard stares for but a moment before bounding over the garden wall. 

She hopes he’ll be back tomorrow.

* * *

On dry mornings, when time isn’t a pressure, Rey walks to work. St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies is only twenty minutes by foot (or thirty seconds by Apparition, Finn gently reminds her when she arrives on the ward soaked and shivering). But there is familiarity in the streets that beckons her. There’s the bakery she buys her Saturday morning Danish pastries from, with it’s heavenly scents every time she walks past; or the florist who roses and daisies burst with colour even in the bleakness of winter. 

And maybe, in times like this, it stands as a reminder of what she has to protect. She closes her eyes, mentally checks the Shield Charms she has enabled are still active. Rey may be a Healer, but she will still defend those who need it if she can…

The foyer is already abuzz with people when she arrives. Panicked relatives; avaricious journalists trying to wheedle stories out of the vulnerable, and officious administrators calling for calm. Beaumont Kin, the Hospital Director, shoots her a pitiful look when he spots her fighting her way through the crowd. She doesn’t spare him a second glance - he had refused their department funding for two extra healers last year, and now in the current crisis, their staff were burnt out and on the verge of despair.

The dual hearts of a hospital are tedium and tragedy. Filing paperwork in between dealing with the worst of human suffering, the grief, the emotional anguish and the physical pain of others. She changes into her lime green robes, tucks her wand into her pocket, and prepares herself for the onslaught.

The Padmé Amidala memorial ward is full; nearly half of the patients are Muggles subjected to various dark curses at the behest of Sidious’s supporters. Before last year, Rey had rarely seen injuries caused by the Sectumsempra curse. It seems last night’s assailant took particular delight in utilizing it. Already, the hospital is running low on Blood-Replenishing Potion. 

Rey holds the hand of a Muggle woman, perhaps a few years younger than herself, as she downs the vile concoction, and tries to tell her of all the wonderful things that exist in the wizarding world - Quidditch and nifflers; moving photographs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans - but the patient looks petrified the whole time. And Rey can hardly blame her… For how can a world which creates curses that inflict such violence be anything other than terrifying to its victims?

Still, what comfort she offers matters little in the long run. Once her treatment is over, the woman, and all of the other Muggle patients, will have their memories Obliviated. Their tears and blood will fade away like smoke in the wind…

But Rey will always remember.

* * *

By afternoon, Rey has been yelled at, wept at, and cowed at by patients in the throes of emotional and physical anguish. Her sympathy cup is running low - not the fault of her patients, she knows, and hates herself more for feeling anything other than utterly understanding and empathetic towards their plight - and she is equal parts hungry, thirsty and just plain exhausted. _Like too little butter, spread over too much bread,_ she thinks wryly.

What Rey truly needs is someone to talk to without fear of their judgement. Which is why she finds herself at the doors of the Janus Thickey Ward come her lunch break, an apple and a stale corned beef sandwich in her pocket. 

And it turns out that she wasn’t the only one with a similar idea.

Finn is already at the bedside, stroking his father’s hands and murmuring unheard words. Luke stares at his son, glassy-eyed. He would appear almost petrified, if not for the occasional scratches to his beard. 

It _hurts_ to see her old Potions master, her mentor, her friend’s father, like this. In the three years since his admission, he has made next to no progress in his recovery. Neither potion nor spell can remove this stupor and bring him back to himself, so deep was the torment and hurt he was subjected to… 

Perhaps, selfishly, that’s why she comes to him in times of distress. His door had always been open to his students, irrespective of their house or (for the older students) if they were even taking his classes. With a chuckle and a sigh and few soft words, he could calm any anxiety. And to Rey, lost and adrift in an unfamiliar (if welcoming) world at age eleven, he had been a gentle, guiding hand.

She makes as if to sneak out, and find some other place to eat her lunch and scream into the void, when Finn’s eyes snap to hers. He flashes a watery smile and beckons her to join him.

“Same idea, huh?” he says with a casual shrug. 

Rey’s smile is tinged with guilt. She slides into the chair at the other side of Luke’s bed. “Hello, Professor Skywalker.” 

He tilts his head and regards her quizzically. The look reminds her of BeeBee’s expression, and she is torn between laughter and mortification at the thought.

“I’ve been telling Dad that you and Rose have been keeping us busy today,” Finn says in a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t think I‘ve ever gone through so much Blood-Replenishing potion so fast! Think the Healers would relinquish you for a bit, and let you join us, Dad? We could use the extra pair of hands.”

Luke’s ash-dusted beard twitches. “Lavender and sherbet!” he suddenly barks, before failing silent again.

It’s a common enough exclamation from him that Rey no longer bats an eyelid. But Finn’s eyes grow moist as he pats his father’s knuckle. “I know, Dad. I miss her too - but she’s doing her best. It hasn’t been easy since Qui-Gon died.” He swallows, his voice thick. “But she and Ahsoka are going to protect the students, no matter what.”

* * *

“Why does your Dad always say that?” Rey asks Finn as they leave the ward and head back to their duties. “‘Lavender and sherbet’ - what does it mean?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “He’s talking about my mother - I think it’s his way of asking where she is. Remember when we learned about Amortentia in N.E.W.T. Potions? Dad said it smelled of lavender and sherbet to him, and everyone cooed and teased him, and Mum got really pissed when no one paid attention in Transfiguration afterwards?”

A frown creeps onto her face. “No?” 

Something flashes in Finn’s eyes; before his face melts to a mask-like still. “Ah, you might have been off that day,” he says lamely.

Disquiet stirs within her. It seems that the more she listens to her peers chat about their Hogwarts days, the more their memories seem not totally up with hers. Had they learned of Amortentia? They must have - she reminds herself, as it had been a twelve mark question in their N.E.W.T. paper. Her thoughts suddenly drift back to that examination, of her mind going blank, and scribbling “sandalwood, ink and old books” in the margins until the answer had come to her later.

Sandalwood… When has she ever cared for sandalwood?

But all further musings on school days past and Amortentia evaporate as two injured Aurors materialise in the foyer, their blood stark against the pale cream tiles, and Rey gets back to work.

* * *

Thirteen hours later, her limbs aching and her reserves truly sapped, Rey naps in the small clinic room at the end of the ward. She isn’t on duty tonight; but after endless hours sealing wounds and nursing fears, she is too tired to even Apparate home. 

Come dawn, she starts again. More hurt, more frightened, more cruelty.

More death.

She wants to lock herself in a cupboard and scream. For Merlin’s sake, she’s a _witch._ She can turn coffee pots into cockatoos, charm tables to tap-dance and Appartate halfway across the world with but a blink. Why then does she feel so powerless?

Come the evening, when her shift is _finally_ over, Rey wants nothing more than to crawl beneath the covers of her bed, never to emerge.

At least, until her next shift.

The chaos of the foyer has receded somewhat. A few ghastly looking witches and wizards huddle on the marble benches, whispering and sobbing. They seem so piteous, that Rey almost wants to go over, ask them to spill their woes, and comfort them. 

Instead, as she walks out with nary a glance, she feels a part of herself die inside. But the empathy wellspring is truly barren now.

There’s a bite of cold in the air as she steps outside. It almost invigorates her enough to contemplate walking home. The dark streets are less of a threat to a witch in ordinary times. But these are extraordinary times - and if she dies in a duel with a dark wizard, her department will be even more under-staffed. 

So Apparition it will be.

“Hey, Niima!” 

A familiar voice echoes behind her. She spins around, and sees Poe Dameron dashing towards her, his brown robes fluttering in the wind.

“My shift’s over, Dameron,” she says tersely. “Jessika Pava is the Healer on duty tonight if you need medical attention.”

Dameron flashes her that easy smile - the one that seems like a charm itself - and rests a hand on his hip. “Actually, the matter I need you for is a bit… sensitive…”

Rey lifts a hand. “Stop right there, I’m not interested in dealing with…” she gestures vaguely, “That.”

His grin fades and turns serious. “This isn’t about medicine, Rey. Look, there’s no easy way to say this…”

“-We need you to come to the Ministry, Miss Niima,” a clipped female voice says from the shadows. It belongs to Gwen Phasma, her blonde hair almost silver in the moonlight. She regards Rey with a look halfway between boredom and annoyance. 

Rey sighs, an exasperated sound that only seems to vex Phasma further. 

“Under new legislation, I have to arrest you if you refuse,” Phasma barks.

“Merlin’s beard, Gwen!” Poe says, sliding himself between the two women. “Ever heard the saying _you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar_ ?” He shakes his head, places a hand on Rey's shoulder. “Please,” he says imploringly. “I know it’s been a long day - heck, it’s been a long _month_ \- but if it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t ask.

And so, her eyes heavy and her head aching, Rey finds herself not in the familiar cosiness of her home, patting BeeBee's feathered head and eating her weight in Honeydukes chocolates until sleep claims her, but squeezed into a phone box with two Aurors and someone's elbow digging into her side. 

_Increased security_ , Phasma had called it. 

“Bloody nuisance, more like,” Rey muttered under her breath, as Poe dialled the entrance code in between trampling on her foot.

The journey to the subterranean offices was agonisingly slow. Crushed between two bodies, Rey feels the air grow stifling. For all their earlier bravado and insistence at dragging her here, both Aurors are suddenly taciturn when it comes to explaining _why_ they need her.

When the lift finally opens into the entrance hall, Rey breathes in cold, stale air. Even illuminated by candles, there is something decidedly grim down here, all shifting shadows and scurrying figures who scarcely cast each other a glance.

“So, who talks first?” Rey quips and Dameron huffs a quiet laugh.

"This way, Miss Niima," Phasma tells her and begins crossing the entrance hall in giant strides. Her boots echo against the tiles. Rey and Dameron have to sprint to keep up with her as she rounds a corridor. Even then, they lose her for a moment.

“Sorry about this, Niima,” Dameron tells her with a shrug. He seems genuinely perturbed and that perks Rey's curiosity.

“What's this about, Poe? Honestly?” 

He bites his lip, but is saved from answering by the echo of raised voices. One she recognises as Phasma’s. The other - a rich, deep male voice is oddly familiar to her, but she can place neither the name nor the face.

When they eventually find Phasma, she is leaning against a wall and regarding her male companion coolly. His face is half-bathed in shadow - not enough details to spark recognition in Rey's mind - but her body thrums in a manner she cannot explain. He is tall - not quite as statuesque as Phasma but almost at her eye level.

And then, he turns to face Rey.

His dark eyes are oddly familiar, and wildly expressive for a moment before the mask of Occlumency falls over him. Even so, that cannot disguise the nervous swallow or the hand he runs through his dark hair.

He is dressed all in black, a severe colour against the ghostly pallor of his skin. He has a neatly trimmed beard, with a sharp jaw and nose. But what is most remarkable about his features is the scar that bisects the right side of his face, and seems to disappear beneath the collar of his tunic.

She wonders how far it goes…

Rey’s skin tingles. Every nerve feels alight, yet there is a fuzziness in her mind as though she had imbibed a flask of Befuddlement Draught. A part of her seems instinctively to recognise him, even though she swears blind that she has never laid eyes on him before.

A cough from Poe interrupts her reverie, and she realises that she has been staring at the stranger. She flushed to the tips of her air.

“Rey, this is-”

“Kylo,” the stranger interrupts as if stirred from a stupor. “Kylo Ren.” His palms are sweaty as he reaches for her hand. So are her own, she realises.

“Rey Niima,” she responds, surprising herself by the rasp of her voice.

His Occlumency cracks for but a second, enough to reveal hints of a frown on his plush mouth.

Unconsciously, Rey licks her lips. Before he drops her grasp and steps away, she catches a whiff of his cologne. A rich, familiar scent that she struggles to place even though it seems burned into her memory…

But her thoughts are brought back to reality by Phasma's terse voice, telling them to hurry up.

Kylo nods, and beckons for Rey to follow him. He leads her into a nondescript room - windowless with a low ceiling and a battered table with two chairs.

He holds the chair nearest the door to her, and she sits down in mullish silence. His own chair scraped against the floor as he sits, a sound that sets her teeth on edge. 

There is something controlled and graceful about his movements. But the subtle clenching and unclenching of his fist on the dusty tabletop reminds her that his calmness is but a facade. Tension bubbles within him - it would take so little for the cauldron to overflow… 

What chills her is how _unafraid_ she is.

“Am I under arrest?” She says imperiously. 

“No, of course not,” Ren tells her.

“Oh? So what am I then? Your _guest?_ Will the tea and cake be served before, or after, the interrogation?”

He shakes his head. “We just need to ask you some questions, Re- Miss Niima,” he amends, and she spots that telltale swallow once more.

_He always does that when he's nervous…_

That thought causes her to start. But before she can follow it, Ren clears his throat. One of his hands has disappeared below the table; her body recognises the gesture before her mind. Her draw is quicker than his, and her hand only trembles slightly as her cedar wand is pointed at him.

Pointing a wand at an Auror… the sensible part of her brain screams at her. In the current climate, witches and wizards have been sent to Azkaban for less. 

His own oak wand is quickly lowered, and the Occlumency cracks. Horror and sadness fills his eyes, enough that Rey falters and her wand slips from her fingers and flatters to the table.

With a bang of purple smoke, Phasma bursts into the room. Her eyes are blazing and she looks ready to hex Rey into next week. 

“Merlin’s beard, what the hell is going on?” She snarls, brushing off Poe's hand on her forearm where her wand is pointed at Rey. If looks could wound, Rey would be haemorrhaging as effectively as if Sectumsempra had been cast. 

Lightning quick, Ren his attention, and his wand, upon Phasma. And that cauldron bubbles over to reveal incandescent rage beneath.

They snarl at each other like Erumpents about to lock horns, when Dameron leaps between them.

Rey is tired, so fucking tired that even speaking is too much much effort. Perhaps she is delirious from exhaustion. Perhaps this is just a nightmare made manifest… 

She snaps back to now at the sound of Poe's yelling. “Look Gwen, she's clearly dead on her feet! Let’s just let her go home, get some rest and pick this up again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Dameron, we may not have until tomorrow! The Ministry could be falling as we speak!” 

The two continue to snipe at one another, but Rey's eyes are drawn to Ren once more. His gaze is filled with a sadness so profound it snatches her breath. Everything else melts away.

It lasts for no more than a moment. Then, he shakes his head. “This isn't right”" he tells Phasma, before storming out. He casts a final glance at Rey - one that scorches her to the very bone - before he swallows once again and vanishes into the corridor in a flurry of black robes.

“You'll have to forgive Kylo,” Poe says; even his usual carefree manner is strained. “He can get a little emotional."

“Seems a great trait for an Auror,” Rey deadpans, hyper-aware of a flutter in her heart.

She resolutely ignores Phasma as Poe leads her out of the Ministry headquarters and back to the street. He offers to escort her home - she declines. 

The walk up three flights of stairs to her flat saps the final vestiges of her energy. Every step is a mountain, and the summit seems perpetually out of reach. But somehow, Rey gets to her front door, and closes out the world. 

She is hungry - she ought to eat. She feels grimy - she should bathe, wash away two days’ worth of secondhand suffering, as if the water will purge the rage and despondency within her. She feels so very _exhausted_ \- more than just physically - but even crawling to bed is too much effort. 

So Rey slumps down on the couch and lets BeeBee nuzzle her face. “It's been a funny old night,” she tells him, absentmindedly scratching his belly.

Eventually, the need for food wins out. She grazes on cheese and crackers, too fatigued to conjure up anything more elaborate. She hops in a quick shower, the water sinfully wonderful against sore muscles. After towelling herself dry, she reaches not for cosy pyjamas, but the over-sized black angora jumper slung over a chair. Its fabric is buttery soft against her skin. She can’t remember quite how she acquired it - nor why she hasn’t charmed it to a better fit, as it practically drowns her - but she nestles into it, it almost feels like an embrace.

 _Sandalwood_ , she thinks, as she climbs into her bed and begins to drift off.

Kylo Ren had smelled of sandalwood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey stumbles onto a conspiracy, and seeks guidance. However, a Dementor attack throws her into the path of Kylo Ren once more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented or left kudos on this fic - I've been truly blown away by the response to it! 
> 
> Once again, thanks to Fran for the amazing prompt! I only hope that I can do it justice.
> 
> Alas, my projected chapter count has had to be revised upwards... (Yes, Rey_Lo, you were correct once again!)

Normally, Rey doesn't dream. Or rather, if she dreams then her waking self fails to hold onto the memories. She supposes it to be for the best - her work life feels like a rapid descent into a nightmare most of the time, and she can only imagine what twisted delights are waiting in her subconscious.

And she certainly never has  _ sex _ dreams. 

Except tonight, she does.

Even worse, the object of her lustful fantasies is bloody  _ Kylo Ren _ .

Or at least, a version of him. Not the volatile Auror with his too intense stare. This Kylo - the one lavishing her neck with butterfly soft kisses that sear her skin - is looser, almost carefree. Clean-shaven too - without the beard to accentuate the harsh cut of his jaw, he looks so much younger. His gaze is soft, almost mesmerised. 

Her fingers tease the scar which splits his cheek and disappears beneath his collar. How far does it actually go, she wonders, as she peels the robes from his body.

Striped of his intensity and dark allure, she pictures an almost caricaturishly large frame - muscles that ripple with every moment, that feel like iron swathed in satin. Her fingers tease another mark - what looks like a burn upon his left shoulder.

He is oddly gentle; none of the passionate roughness his erratic nature would have hinted at. He is all pillowy lips, teasing fingers, and tender words. Her name on his tongue sounds like a benediction. And when they move as one, her pleasure burns brighter than a supernova. The scent of sandalwood surrounds her, too real to be a dream, and she is content.

Come the morning alarm, her pillow is damp with tears, her thighs slick, and her fist still gripping the empty chasm on the other side of the bed.

Melancholy and loneliness would not be cured easily. But a few minutes of efficient strokes from her fingers dealt with the third problem. (Even if she refuses to acknowledge whose face and body and  _ hands _ she is envisioning in the throes of her arousal.)

Even after the warm caress of a morning shower, Rey feels no less perplexed. The dreams at least she can put down to a side effect of loneliness and a desperate need for comfort amidst swirling darkness. As to the other thing… 

Being dragged to the Ministry for questioning likely wasn’t  _ that _ unusual an occurrence in the current times. Desperation hung heavy in the air. And Rey knew that desperate people could easily be driven to any lengths… No,once more what baffled her was the sudden meltdown of her would-be interrogator before he had even asked any questions of her.

Well, she supposes, seeing the worst of the wizarding world day in and out probably isn't a recipe for psychological well-being, anymore than her own job at the coalface of human pain and suffering is.

No Aurors come banging at the door as she conjures up breakfast with a flick of her wand. Frantic chopping sounds and the shrill whistle of the kettle fill the air as she slathers a thick layer of pumpkin jam on her toast. 

It reminds her of breakfasts at Hogwarts. Of chatting with Finn over plates laden with sausages and eggs, of freshly baked bread and warm spiced teas, of knowing that the table would always be full come the next meal, the next day, the next week. It was a comforting certainty she had never known before.

There is no Finn to talk over her thoughts with this morning. BeeBee has yet to return from his nocturnal sojourn - and anyway, she thinks with a wry smile, he wouldn't be able to offer more than an affectionate nip of her fingers and an attempt to snaffle as much of her apple slices as he could. So instead, she takes her breakfast out to the balcony. The air is heavy with the memory of rain last night. A flick of her wand banishes the dampness from the bench; another conjures a tartan blanket which she drapes over her lap. The tea is strong, and the toast a little burned, but even years of full bellies have yet to instill any fussiness over such trivial things. 

The Flutterby bush quivers slightly at her approach. She smiles, remembering the first time she had encountered the plant as a wide-eyed First Year in Herbology. Even now, there are moments she thinks the blossoms will take flight like real butterflies and circle around the balcony. It’s too late in the year for butterflies now. But come the summer, she knows her purple Buddleia bush will be teeming with them. 

She looks forward to that day. The bench is long - too long for Rey alone, at least - and perhaps when the summer comes again, she might curl upon it on dry, warm days, and awaken to their softly beating wings on her nose and face.

Rey ignores the gnawing voice that questions whether she will even see next summer.

Her eyes search the garden below. Her Muggle neighbours' children have left plastic toys strewn around the lawn. Their apple tree is heavy with its burden, the slightest breeze ready to relinquish the fruit from its branch. The Judas tree stands proud in the corner, it's purple leaves now turning the collar of an autumnal sunset. And there in its shade, curled on the dewy grass, is Reynard. 

A warm flush of fondness fills her as the fox yawns and stretches. He shakes his head, and his eyes snap to hers. She giggles and waves at him. It's an inane thing to do, when she thinks about it, but when the world is every second threatening to slip into darkness, Reynard has always elicited a smile from her.

Briefly, she toys with the idea of domesticating him. Build him a little den, feed him fresh chicken from the butchers at the far end of the road (which has to be infinitely better than the scraps he probably scavenges for in the bins), perhaps even stick a red collar on him. That image elicits another chuckle. BeeBee would certainly squawk and make his objections known if she tried to add another to their little household. 

With that thought, BeeBee appears in the sky, wings aflutter and moving in some bizarre Brownian motion, like a bee seeking the pollen trail of a very specific flower. That’s where his name had come from, she supposes. 

Hadn’t it?

Before she can muse further, BeeBee swoops onto the railing beside her hand. He deposits today’s edition of  _ The Daily Prophet _ with the pride of a messenger delivering a declaration of peace and prosperity. She strokes his head in thanks, and tosses him a few apple slices. It’s the least he deserves.

Before she ventures a glance at the newspaper, her eyes drift back to the Judas. Reynard is now gone, vanished like a ghost in the fog. Even with BeeBee flapping and screeching for her attention, Rey feels bereft. 

Some things aren’t meant to be tamed, and some creatures aren’t meant to belong to anyone. Like Reynard.

Like Rey herself.

* * *

Somehow, Rey makes her way to St Mungo's without the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement descending on her to haul her back to the Ministry and resume her aborted interrogation. That in itself leaves her oddly disquieted. Dameron's stern insistence, and Phasma's words of urgency make the absence of any Aurors this morning all the more conspicuous. 

Her morning perusal of  _ The Daily Prophet _ had offered no clues as to why anyone would want to speak to her specifically. (It barely offered any indication as to what sort of crises she would find herself battling today).

But if anything could distract her from the turbulence off her thoughts, another wave of casualties brought in after Sidious' minions attacked several Muggle houses before the Aurors intervened would do just that.

Harter Kalonia stands in the middle of it all, dressed in a bottle green robe, and barking commands at the healers, nurses, and potioneers scurrying about. There is something of a General in her demeanor, directing her troops in the midst of a battle.

And, Rey thinks with a pang, a battlefield is exactly what this place feels like on most days. Her wounded and traumatised are rarely Aurors or Death Eaters or even ordinary witches and wizards taking a stand against tyranny. They’re the weak, the powerless, those who had neither choice nor knowledge of the war raging around them. 

Her first patients are an elderly Muggle, eyes glassy with fear, clutching an equally petrified child to her breast. Both of their garments are saturated with blood, stark against their pale cheeks. Even the fur of the boy’s teddy bear is matted with blood.

Bile burns in Rey’s throat. 

The woman - whose name, she knows from the beside chart, is Rosemary - refuses to relinquish her grandson to allow Rey to check him over. Her breaths are short, shallow - not just from anxiety but from the blood loss.

Even with some cursory Coagulation Charms, their wounds continue to ooze. Short of the Unforgivable Curses, Sectumsempra was truly the worst. Every individual laceration had to be sealed, carefully and cautiously, by a skilled hand. But every time Rey reaches for her cedar wand, Rosemary’s grip tightens on her little grandson, and her teeth are almost bared in a snarl. 

It would be easy - devastatingly so - to cast a Calming Charm, to make the woman trust her so that she could heal both her and the boy’s wounds. Or simply move onto other patients, and wait for her to become too weak to protest. That such an idea even enters Rey’s mind fills her with self-loathing.

Even if she survives when the inevitable Muggle-born purge begins, she knows that she won’t ever be the same person again.

But she banishes those thoughts for later. Let her examine them at home, with a glass of firewhiskey and as much introspection as she can handle.

For now, she tucks her wand into her robes, and tugs loose the navy blue ribbon holding her hair back. With a wink at the little boy, she drops the ribbon. But instead of simply falling to the ground, it coils and spirals like the dancing of a kite in the air. The boy’s eyes widen, transfixed at the motion. In spite of herself, Rey smiles.

She had never quite lost the knack for wandless magic that most do after seven years at Hogwarts. Even adult wizards are amazed at such displays, and she frequently gets accused of hiding spare wands up her sleeve or other such nonsense. 

Professor Skywalker had told her that Muggle-borns usually had more of an aptitude for such feats than other wizards. “When one doesn’t grow up around wands,” he had explained in that calm and imperturbable tone he always had for his students, “One isn’t limited in one’s mind by the rules of our world. Never let anyone restrict what you can do because their minds are too small and focussed.”

And so with but a finger, Rey continues to manipulate the ribbon, making it tie itself in a bow around her wrist. Even amongst the trauma he has clearly suffered, a peel of childish laughter escapes him. 

And that finally convinces his grandmother to loosen her grasp, and pass him to Rey for a proper check-up. As she guides her wand over pallorous skin, the blood vanishing and the skin knitting itself back to unblemished perfection, the boy begins to chatter. 

His name, he tells her, is Temiri. “But everyone calls me Tem,” he says exasperatedly. As she heals him (including a quick Scourgify spell so that his teddy bear is back to pristine white fur), he continues to talk. He fingers the embroidered logo upon her uniform - a wand and a bone crossed - and asks Rey if she is a doctor. He then unleashes a volley of questions. Can she heal broken bones with her magic? Does she have a cat and a broom and a cauldron? Does she turn naughty Princes into toads? Does she live in a gingerbread house?

One would think he had come to an ordinary Muggle hospital, not one where his fellow patients could present with splinching accidents, extra limbs from misbegotten attempts at human transfiguration, or bites from all manner of magical creatures; and that the reason for his scars was simple childhood misadventure rather than the wanton cruelty of her fellow witches and wizards.

Once his lacerations have been healed, and he is grimacing whilst sipping from a goblet of Blood-Replenishing Potion (with the promise of Chocolate Frogs and Jelly Slugs if he drinks it all), Rey can focus her attention on his grandmother.

There is still a wariness in Rosemary's eyes as Rey tends to her wounds. But her eyes soften as they fall on her grandchild. 

She doesn't ask questions - a relief in itself, for how could Rey even begin to formulate an answer? 

Only an ice-veined monster could look into Tem's wide-eyed innocence and think of hurting him.

"Look, Nana!" Tem says suddenly, and both womens’ eyes snap to him. Or, to his white-furred teddy bear now hovering in the air in front of him. 

Dread pools in Rey’s gut. She awaits a rebuttal, an accusation, an eruption of rage from his grandmother aimed at her.

But all Rosemary offers is a sigh as heavy as the world itself. "Have you taken all your medicine, Tem?" She asks. His lips curl into that smile of filial guilt, and the teddy floats back to his lap before he resumes drinking from the goblet.

_ He's a Muggle-born, _ Rey thinks. And then her mind rifles back to all of the Death Eater attacks of recent weeks… And how virtually every single one involved young children… 

"That's why they hurt my family, wasn't it?" Rosemary says in a voice like flint, worrying her hands in the fabric of a blood soaked cardigan. 

Rey nods, her voice oddly thick when she says, "I know how you feel. I was the same as Tem. The only one in my family who could do magic."

"And did strange men and woman burst into your house and torture your family?" 

The lack of accusation in her tone hurts worse than the sting of a Venomous Tentacula. Rey shakes her head.

"Then forgive me, Madame, but you have  _ no  _ idea how I feel. None at all."

* * *

Through the rest of her shift, Rey tries to put that cold, accusatory stare out of her mind. Such hubris, to think she could ever truly understand the fear Tem and his family must have felt. If a horde of Death Eaters blasted down her door, she at least could attempt a defense. She had Shield Charms upon the street, and seven years of Defence Against the Dark Arts training with a barrage of spells in her arsenal.

Those Muggle families had no such protections.

Rey's first instinct is to Apparate to the Ministry, demand to speak to Poe and Phasma, to scream her newfound suspicions from the roof of St Mungo's, or from the bloody Tower of London itself if that’s what it takes to get the attention needed. There must already be a target upon her back for simply being Muggleborn herself - and though deep down she knows such an act will only make the situation worse, the idea of more children, more Muggle families crying and bleeding and  _ dying  _ because of some barbaric views on blood supremacy.

But the causality department is still heaving with the sick and wounded. She cannot abandon them on a whim.

Frustratingly, despite the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s fascination with her the previous night, no Aurors appear today - when only  _ now _ does she have actually useful information. 

_ “The Ministry could be falling as we speak,”  _ Phasma’s voice purrs in her memory.

Rey bites her lip.  _ If your gut and your brain disagree when it comes to a patient, trust the former. _ That had always been her maxim as a healer.

If her suspicions are correct, then the Death Eaters must have obtained the names and locations of any Muggleborns from a source within the Ministry itself.. 

Phasma’s fears, hyperbolic as they seemed, may not be entirely unfounded. The Ministry may not have fallen. Yet. But the minimum it must have been infiltrated. And that knowledge gives her pause. 

Rey has always been a woman who acted. This impotency weighs heavily upon her, prickling her skin and tasting of ash in her mouth.

So she continues to plough through the triage list. She chats briefly with Rose, to get her opinion on whether one patient’s rash is an atypical presentation of dragon pox, or just a severe skin irritation from monkswood. (What she really wants to talk about, she doesn’t feel she can burden her friend with.) She tends to a the burned hands of a wizard who swears a little too adamantly that they definitely  _ aren’t _ the result of handling a baby dragon; un-transfigures the donkey ears from a wizard whose studies in becoming an Animagus had gone awry; and seals the wounds of at least another dozen injured Muggles who regard her with varying degrees of mistrust and fascination.

Lunchtime passes. It is almost four o’clock before the department is controlled enough to allow Rey a break. Her mouth is dust-dry and her stomach grumbles in protest. Their small, shabby staff room smells of abandoned coffee, stale smoke and the remnants of someone’s smoked haddock. A few years ago, she would have called them a monster in jest.

But now there are very real monsters lurking in the shadows of their world.

She sinks into a lumpy tartan armchair, downs a cup of scalding tea and practically inhales her cheese sandwich. The stench of the room continues to offend her, and she abandons the staff room after only a few minutes to seek out a less fragrant abode.

There are few places in a hospital to seek solitude. But that isn’t what Rey needs right now. Her heart aches for the familiar. At least, that’s the excuse she gives herself as she makes her way to the Janus Thickey Ward. 

Luke appears less bedraggled today. Someone has cut his hair, and tidied his beard. Were it not for his plaid pyjamas and patient wristband, he would look no different from the kindly Potions master with infinite patience and a gentle voice, guiding a gaggle of wide-eyed first years and exam-weary seventh years through their studies. But now there is no recognition in his eyes.

Rey slumps into the hard plastic chair by his bedside. "Hello, Professor Skywalker," she says, and bites her lip. 

How many times has she sat opposite him, problems as heavy as the universe upon her young shoulders, and found solace and wisdom in his words? Those problems seem so trivial in comparison to those which now plague her. 

"I need you to tell me the answer," she whispers mournfully, and squeezes his hand. 

"I doubt you'll get the answers you seek from my brother," a hoarse voice says somewhere behind Rey. Her neck snaps up. The voice's owner - an older woman with sad, glistening eyes and a face so achingly familiar that it disturbs Rey that she cannot immediately place it - offers her a watery smile. Rey springs to her feet awkwardly, but the woman lifts her hand in a mollifying gesture. "Oh, please don't let me disturb you dear. Rey, isn't it?"

She nods. "Forgive me, but…"

The older woman's smile melts away. Weariness sits upon her like a cloak; yet, Rey senses a quiet dignity beneath the pain. "Leia," she says softly, and shakes Rey's hand in greeting. Her skin is warm, soft, and her grip lingers a moment too long before she pulls away. 

"Your brother was my teacher," Rey begins, as if to justify her intrusion in Luke's world. "He was always good at giving advice whenever I was stuck."

At that, Leia laughs. Luke's gaze snaps to her face at the sound, but he remains blank and silent. "Sorry, brother," she says, patting his hand. "I didn't mean to tease you." She fixes Rey with a serious glare. "My brother's talent lay not in telling people solutions to their problems, but in showing them that they already had the answers inside them."

Rey hums contemplatively for a moment. A giggle- such a strange, foreign sound that she has to stifle it because it sounds positively  _ indecent  _ to do so - bursts forth from her lips. "Sorry," she says, one hand clapped over her mouth. "You make him sound like the Wizard of Oz." Then, she drops her hand. "It's a Muggle story-"

"About a girl, a lion, a tin man and a scarecrow," Leia says with a closed lip smile. At Rey's incredulity, she adds, "My husband is a Muggle. I would read my son-" and her voice suddenly hitches, "I would read him The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and my husband would read him Muggle stories. He  _ hated _ the Wizard of Oz. Said the whole premise was a cop out." Her voice sounds strained and cracked. She fingers her wedding rings and Rey finds herself unconsciously mirroring the gesture on her own bare finger.

Suddenly, Luke clears his throat. "Finn?" He says plaintively, eyes darting between the women flanking his hospital bed. "Ben?"

A jagged breath escapes Leia, and her eyes grow misty. Rey becomes devotedly fascinated with loose thread on her left sleeve, plucking at it whilst pretending not to see Luke's sister dabbing away her tears. Being here is too much, too intimate. 

The chair makes a scraping noise as she stands, and murmurs her excuses. Her lunch break is almost over, and she can only hope the admissions unit has not filled up again in her absence.

But Leia gently grips her elbow, and rises with her. Without warning, she is pulled into a hug, the older woman cradling the back of her head and anointing her neck with hot tears.

Rey has never been one for effusive displays of affection. Normally she would try to extricate herself from such an embrace, try to maintain some professional boundaries. But this hug feels different. Maternal, almost. The little girl who still lives in Rey's heart, starving for affection and  _ belonging, _ breaks free and she tightens her arms around this kind stranger. Tears prick at her own eyes.

When Leia pulls away a few minutes later, the chasm in Rey's heart aches a fraction less. 

"You are a brilliant witch and a wonderful woman," Leia tells her with unmistakable pride in her gaze. "The answers you need are already inside you. But," she hesitates, and her voice grows raspy. "If you ever need someone to help you tease those answers out, you need only ask."

It would be easy - devastatingly so - to spill her thoughts and concerns to this kind-hearted stranger. To relieve herself of this burden and hope someone else has a solution. 

But Leia, despite her warm manner and easy affection is still a stranger. Rey's gut wants to trust her,  _ needs _ to trust her with the desperation of a man in the desert craving water to relieve his thirst; but the sensible, rational part of her dominates, and she stays mute on the matter. 

* * *

An uncomfortable lull settles over the admissions unit by evening. A few times someone seems on the verge of dropping the q-word - the fourth Unforgivable Curse in the eyes of a healer.

Once the triage list has cleared, Rey slips away to the Potions Department in the basement. Her feet clatter against the tiles; and she questions for the hundredth time if it is fair to burden her friends with the knowledge she carries. It is not a matter of trust. Her faith in Finn and Rose is as solid as the foundations of Hogwarts itself; they are honest, steadfast, and true. But the same fears and struggles plague them all, the same collective trauma that threatens daily to overwhelm their resolve.

Rey does not want to be the one to break them.

She stops before the heavy mahogany door with it’s smudged plaque that reads  _ “Potions Department - No Unauthorised Entry.” _ A cloud of foul-smelling green smoke belches from under the door. As soon as she knocks, Rey takes a step back. Experience should have taught her to cast a Bubble-Head Charm  _ before _ coming down here. It’s a sign of how rattled the past two days have rendered her.

Even once the Bubble-Head is in place, the stench still clings to her nostrils - burnt onions and something pungen and damp which might be flobberworm mucus. She gags.

About a minute later, Finn emerges in a haze of that green smoke, his own Bubble Head Charm in place and wearing a heavy dragonhide overalls and matching gloves. He almost resembles a deep-sea diver in cartoons she had watched as a child in a flat smelling of stale beer and mould.

Would her parents even have tried to protect their freak daughter if Death Eaters had come knocking at their door?

Her eyes grow glassy. A blink knocks loose some tears, and she hopes the iridescence of the bubble conceals them from Finn. 

He gives Rey an exasperated smile; the one he uses to conceal the sheer depths of his frustration. “Boil cure potion gone awry,” he says in a muffled voice, slamming shut the door and using his wand to hoover up the residual plumes of smoke. “Bad times when we can’t even get a First Year potions assignment right.” The tilt of his mouth is so reminiscent of his father that Rey feels her heart constrict. 

They find a quiet office, and Rose joins them a few minutes later. Finn places a kiss on his wife’s brow and brushes a few tendrils of hair from her face. 

Jealousy is a terrible thing; jealousy aimed at one’s friends is worse, and Rey feels guilt intermingle with her envy as she watches their easy affection for one another. Unconsciously she folds her arms together, thumbs caressing her biceps in some pale imitation of the embrace she longs for.

“Are you all right, Rey?” Rose asks her, squeezing her hand. 

“I’m fine,” she replies in a high-pitched voice. “I…” She hesitates. “Last night I was taken to the Ministry for questioning - which weirdly enough never ended up happening - and then this morning I stumbled onto a conspiracy, or at least, a leak within the Ministry.” In hushed tones, she tells them of little Tem (now back at home, both his and his grandmother’s memories scrubbed clean of their experience and of her, and hopefully under some form of magical protection) and his floating teddy bear. Rose chews her lip as she listens; Finn leans forward and pinches his brow.

“Mum needs to know this,” he says, his eyes wide and even a little fearful. “She’s been afraid this would happen…” He begins to pace the room. “Poe too. I'll contact them both immediately.” With a sigh, he places a hand on Rey’s shoulders, giving it a brotherly squeeze. “Would you be willing to talk to Dameron? After last night, I mean…”

“If you can trust him…”

“With my life.”

Rey nods. “Then I can as well." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Just tell him not to bring his emotionally unstable mate this time.”

That elicits a weary chuckle from Finn. “Crikey, Phasma must have had a really bad day, huh? She’s normally pretty poised, even under pressure.”

“No, not Phasma,” Rey says with a frown. “Kylo Ren.”

Never in the fifteen years of their acquaintance has Rey seen Finn’s face move through so many expressions in quick succession. Bafflement, shock, annoyance, anger before settling on an eerie mask-like calm that makes her wonder if he is using Occlumency.

She had no idea he even knew  _ how _ to do that.

Rose remains puzzled. “Who is that? I’ve never heard of him.”

A dark chuckle escapes Rey. “He’s one of their Auror mates - bit of an emotional mess. Funnily enough, I swear I’ve met him before… I just can’t place him….”

Her body thrums even as she speaks of him - those wild, expressive eyes burning into her, and the scent of sandalwood teasing her memory.

_ That _ elicits a change in Rose’s countenance. “What does he look like?” she says in an uncharacteristically cold tone.

Rey raises hand above her head. “Tall - like, freakishly so. Dark hair, crazy eyes, dressed all in black. Posh accent too - definitely from an old family.” 

As she speaks, a meaningful glance passes between husband and wife. Rey bites her lip; something feels… off, about this conversation. But she shakes it off - Finn and Rose have been her oldest friends, the people who love her most in the world. No amount of stress or bizarre conspiracies should ever poison her with doubt in them. 

Even though thoughts tease at her mind, dissipating like smoke in a fog before she can fully grasp them. 

After a heavy silence, Finn pulls Rey into a rib-crushing hug, and Rose encircles her from the other side. How easily that had comforted her when the only things to fear were failed exams and detentions. But she drinks greedily of their affection nonetheless.

“I’ll talk to Poe for you,” Finn says when their embrace is broken.

She gives him a watery smile. “Thanks, Finn. I knew I could trust you.”

His eyes flash for but a second. “You can always trust me.” he says in a wavering voice, as though he too is on the edge of tears.

* * *

Clouds have sunk to the ground, covering the streets in mist when Rey finally ventures home. Her limbs are heavy, her heart even more so, and that same weariness seeps into her very marrow. She wants to burrow beneath the cold, lonely sheets of her bed and block out the world. 

The streets are still; she passes a few Muggles hurrying to their own homes, as if they too are unaware of the encroaching darkness. The park is deserted, and the trees groan in the wind. Streetlights cast the pavement in a sickly glow, and shadows seem to dance in the fog.

Rey shivers, and burrows deeper into her coat. Fingers loosely grasp her wand where it lies tucked in her pocket. She hears a scuffling sound - just a dog or a rat or fox, she tells herself. Even so, her pace quickens.

The aching coldness only grows. With a start, Rey realises that this is no ordinary fog… 

And that’s when she sees them - dark shadows moving towards her, their icy tendrils piercing her heart. Her stomach growls with remembered hunger, her eyes sting with remembered tears, and her skin smarts from the memory of old blows.

In a heartbeat, the wand is in her grasp. She fumbles through her memory for something happy - a moment of warmth and transcendent peace, unfiltered joy and smiles - and comes up empty. The figures hiss as they move closer. 

She runs, forcing herself to remember the warmth of sunlight and laughter. 

Last summer, on a baking hot day when the sky seemed to blaze with fire, she had met Finn and Rose on Diagon Alley. They had sat under a parasol in Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, and gorged themselves like over-eager children on every flavour. They had laughed, and teased one another, and for a moment, Rey had felt the crippling loneliness in her heart abate.

So she stops running. Turns on her heels. Points the wand at the encircling shadows, and stifles the voices of her parents calling her a freak as they had thrown her out, her Hogwarts uniform and textbooks dumped in bin-bags in the stairwell; the anguished cries of the women whose husband had died despite every spell and potion Rey could throw at his illness; blanks out the torrents of bloodshed and pain and human misery that has become her daily routine.

“ _ Expecto patronum!” _ she shouts, and forces herself to focus on Finn’s laugh, Rose’s smile, and the taste of chocolate ice cream on her tongue.

A fox made of pure silver springs forth from her wand. The aching cold retreats but a little as it snaps at the Dementors before dissolving into the mist.

She tries again, searching for a happier memory, a moment of sheer ebullience and joy amidst all the pain…

A strange woman, white of hair and ochre skinned, sitting on the battered sofa of her parent's flat, patiently explaining about Hogwarts and the Wizarding world. The sheer exhilaration bubbling in eleven year old Rey's chest as she realises she isn't mad or a freak - she's a  _ witch.  _ Watching Professor Tano conjure teacups from thin air with nothing but a flick of her elegant wand and a smile. The promise of escape. Of freedom.

It's the happiest memory Rey has. She clutches at it, with all her resolve, and casts the Patronus charm against.

The fox which springs forth this time is stronger, more substantial, snarling at the Dementors with silver fangs and leaping at them. But she is still outnumbered, and the voices of her parents continue to grow in volume. Every insult, every fear, every doubt magnified until she is deafened by them.

Then, she hears a male voice, familiar and yet not, cry “ _ Expecto patronum!” _

Her fox-Patronus is joined by a twin; stronger, more distinct. They spring at the Dementors in unison, and banish them with a silvery flash.

The voices of her parents stop. The emptiness and drowning sadness recedes. Rey lifts a hand to her wet cheek, even as she does not lower her wand.

“Who’s there?” She calls out into the night, before spotting a figure in the sickly glow of a streetlight. 

He steps towards her, his gait unsteady as if a Jelly-Legs Curse had been cast upon him. Even before the scent of sandalwood hits her, she recognises him.

“Were you following me?” Rey snaps.

Kylo Ren shakes his head. He has the look of a man haunted. If Dementors work on your worst memories then they clearly had a feast on his. Trauma and terror are etched onto his face, as deep as his scar.

“No Re- No, Miss Niima.” His voice is cracked at the edges, and he runs a hand through his hair. The look in his eyes is so pitiful, far from the determined poise of most other Aurors she has encountered. 

She supposes she looks no better; coming up from the depths of every misery that Dementors had dragged to the forefront of her mind. 

Her expression softens. "Well, I'm glad that you were here. Two Patronuses are better than one. Is it Patronuses or Patroni?" 

Merlin's beard, is she trying to make conversation with him?

"Should be Patroni but no one uses that word," Kylo says. His breathing remains ragged, and in the sickly lamp light his pale skin is almost translucent. “The streets of London aren’t safe tonight, Miss Niima.” His words sound as exhausted and weary as Rey feels.

Maybe that's why, in spite of what her thoughts bellow at her, she holds out her free hand to him. “I live near here, and I’ve got plenty of chocolate at home.” What might be hints of a smile tease his lips, and she tries to push down the memory of her early morning fantasies of those lips kissing her and doing…  _ other _ things to her body. 

She barely knows him, even though something about him is familiar. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had pointed his wand at her, bottled an interrogation and fled the room as though the devil was at his heels. She has zero cause to trust him - less than zero. Finn's visceral reaction to his name ought to be justification enough to leave him here, cast yet another Shield Charm upon her home, and bar the door. He could be a Death Eater in Auror's clothing. He could be under the Imperius Curse. Hell, he could be  _ anyone  _ at all - Finn has told her of the theft of Bicorn horns and Boomslang skin from the Potions department, and she can think of only one potion which requires both…

Yet, something instinctive and intangible makes her believe that Kylo  _ can _ be trusted. Perhaps it's that unexplainable familiarity, the way her soul seems to recognise him on the most fundamental of levels. Maybe it's because he can produce a Patronus - something Dark wizards should be diametrically unable to do. Perhaps it's because his Patronus is a fox like her own - that they are kindred souls.

Perhaps it's because of the sandalwood.

When Rey holds out her hand, there is no Occlumency in place; he stares at her with such violent emotions in his eyes that she almost regrets her offer. But he swallows, and slides a quivering hand into her grasp.

The fog around them seems to thicken, almost choking in its intensity. Yet somehow, Rey feels unafraid.

_ Safe _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for you reading!
> 
> I also post a selection of [Reylo-themed Harry Potter microfics](https://twitter.com/AndrinaNightsh1/status/1325090822778462209) over on my Twitter! (Warning: sweetness and teenage pining abounds!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Kylo bond over chocolate and alcohol; but a secret threatens their burgeoning affection...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially given up all pretense of believing I can wrap this up in 1 - 2 chapters. My best guess is 5 but the story keeps expanding and expanding...
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who has been reading this and commenting. I have been delighted and bowled over by the response to this fic!
> 
> Content warning - Alcohol use, discussion of contraception, longing for future children.

Their footsteps echo like thunder in the abandoned street. They hurry back to Rey’s flat as though the Grim itself was upon their heels. The sting of old memories lingers, even after the Dementors have been vanquished; but the feel of Kylo’s fingers entwined with hers calms her. Centres her. A litany of unspoken questions thud in her chest. Everything feels on the verge of tipping into disequilibrium, but he is her anchor.

If she were able to think more rationally - if her emotions were not in a jumble after the days and weeks of trauma she has borne witness to - it would unsettle her how readily she trusts Kylo.

When they cross the threshold to her block, she doesn’t hesitate. The door closes behind them with a soft click. She murmurs a Shield Charm to be doubly sure, still holding Kylo’s hand in hers. In tandem, they breathe raggedly. Rey knows neither of them will fully relax until they are home.

_Her home_ , she mentally amends,

None of her neighbours poke their heads out as they climb to the top floor. After the Dementors, she feels far too drained to attempt any polite small talk - nor to endure the inevitable gossip about her strange companion.

The blue door to her flat looks utterly innocuous; she almost expects Kylo to admonish her lack of security. Especially in current times.

She reaches out to brush the golden door knocker, fashioned into the shape of a lion's head. It gives a feeble yawn whilst miraculously keeping the ring in its mouth. "I _see a little silhouette-o of a man,"_ it says in a sleepy, metallic voice. 

_"Scaramouche, scaramouche, Will you do the Fandango?"_ Rey responds.

The knocker gives a pathetic approximation of a roar and the door swings open. Rey beckons for Kylo to enter, before closing the door behind her with a murmured, “ _Colloportus.”_

She toes off her boots... only too late remembering that her left sock had a large hole. A flush creeps up her neck. Thankfully, Kylo is too distracted to notice. Instead, she watches him drink in every detail of her dimly lit hallway with a peculiar expression on his face. 

She slips off her heavy coat. It flutters onto one of the two pegs on the coat stand. Kylo removes his own dark jacket, and it flies to the other one.

Wordlessly, he follows her into the lounge. 

With a flick of her wand, the fireplace crackles to life. But her skin still prickles with the memory of that cold, aching emptiness the Dementors had torn open in her. 

Rey motions for Kylo to sit on the battered tartan couch, and heads through to the kitchen to collect their chocolate. Right now, a summoning spell feels like too much effort. And if it gives her a moment away from his intense regard to contemplate exactly why she has invited him here… Well, all the better.

She rifles wearily in the cupboard and grabs two bars of Honeydukes chocolate, each as large as her head. 

When she returns to the living room, Kylo is leaning against the stone mantle of the fireplace. Shadows dance across his face. He holds a glass of firewhiskey to his chest. Rey also spots a second glass on the coffee table, in front of her favourite armchair. Perhaps she ought to be annoyed at him helping himself; instead, she finds herself feeling oddly grateful. His eyes snap to hers, and he looks abashed. 

"Sorry," he says, before sinking into the couch opposite her and accepting his chocolate with murmured thanks. 

"Sorry I've not got any dark chocolate," Rey tells him as she tears into the purple packaging. "I only like the really sweet stuff." Then, she blinks, and notices a puzzled look on his features. "Oh, sorry - I just assumed…"

Kylo shrugs, clearly still too emotionally shattered to even attempt Occlumency. "Anything is fine, Rey. Miss Niima." His large hands still nurse the glass of firewhiskey. It catches the firelight, leaving a glimmering trail on the wall. 

"Eat the chocolate first," she chides. "Otherwise the alcohol will dull its efficacy."

"Spoken like a true healer," he replies, and Rey almost swears she can hear _fondness_ in his tone.

The first bite of chocolate warms her better than the fire, steadies her more than Kylo's touch. Gone is the lingering prickle of dread against her skin. Gone is the incessant, buzzing voice that questions if she will ever be happy again. Gone is the hollowness and the cold. But, no matter how much of the bar she eats, it can barely touch her loneliness. 

Still, Rey devours the chocolate with gusto, licking a trail of sticky caramel that clings to her lip. 

In contrast, Kylo breaks off individual squares, eating them with small, dainty bites that are almost comical for a man of his size. His skin loses the ashy hue and returns to its normal pallor. But that uneasy look remains branded onto his face, as much as a part of his features as his scar. He sits across from her in silence, save for their occasional chewing sounds.

Once her chocolate bar is eaten, and her blood pulses with warmth, Rey sips at the firewhiskey. It burns away the lingering sweetness on her tongue. Chocolate soothes, but alcohol forgets. She forgets the bone deep fears, the lash of old wounds reopening. She loosens her hair from its bun, shaking it free, and tries to relax. But there is a single thought which teases her - the sight of two foxes composed of pure silver light, chasing away the Dementors.

She closes her eyes, lets an old memory wash over her. Of herself at seventeen, in shabby knee socks and a frayed Hogwarts jumper, lingering at the back of Professor Tano’s Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and hopping awkwardly from foot-to-foot. 

_She watched Professor Tano gather up the duelling mats with an elegant flick of her wand, feeling her heart threaten to eject itself from her chest._

_“Did you want something, Miss Niima?” the Professor asked once the classroom was back to respectability. A smile curled at the edge of her lips._

_Rey opened and closed her mouth like a fish for a few moments, before the words sputtered forth. “I wanted to ask you about Patronuses!” she squeaked._

_Professor Tano chuckled in that warm, teasing way of hers, and motioned for Rey to sit. “Patronuses, you say?” she asks with an arched eyebrow, arms folded over her chest. “What seems to be the query, Rey? You were quite adept at producing one earlier… Or,” and she leaned back in her chair, her smile deepening the wrinkles upin her bronzed cheeks, “Was your question of a more… philosophical nature?”_

_Rey swallowed. “A Patronus always manifests as an animal, right?” At her teacher’s nod, Rey continued. “Is it always… the same… animal?”_

_“One’s Patronus can change, over time,” Professor Tano said slowly, a finger tapping against her lower lip. “But for most witches and wizards, once they can conjure a Patronus, it’s shape remains immutable.” She lifts her wand, and with an almost leisurely flick, a silver swan bursts forth from its tip. The creature stretches its wings elegantly, before dissipating into the air like a puff of smoke. “Mine’s has always been thus.”_

_“So why do some wizard’s Patronuses change?” Rey asked earnestly._

_Professor Tano clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Scholars would tell you that it happens as a result of a powerful emotional change in one’s life.” Her lips make a moue of distaste. “Of course, based on several decades of teaching this charm, I believe the answer is perhaps a little simpler and more straightforward than that.”_

_Rey’s breath hitched as she waited for the next words to come. But her teacher merely smiled indulgently._

_“What is the answer, Professor?” Rey finally asked, desperately trying to suppress the bite of annoyance in her tone._

_“Perhaps you will allow me to answer the question you are_ **_really_ ** _asking, Miss Niima,” Professor Tano finally responded. “The Patronus is an extension of the soul. When it changes, it usually does so to match the Patronus of the one you love.”_

_Something warm and delicious bloomed in Rey’s chest at the words. Whatever Professor Tano said next was lost in the echo of that sentence in her mind._

Something about the memory feels… off. Every detail is clear as day, as though Rey were observing a replay of the moment via a Pensieve. From the slide of the too-large sleeves of her secondhand jumper down past her wrists, to the ink-stains on her fingers, to the teasing glint in Professor Tano’s eyes. 

No, it was her younger self’s oddly foreign _happiness_ at that final declaration which puzzles Rey. She chews her lip for a moment, before her eyes fall on Kylo.

“Your Patronus is the same as mine,” Rey whispers after a few minutes of contemplative silence.

Whilst Kylo’s posture could hardly have been described as _relaxed_ , at those words his body grows rigid. His eyes, which had seemed so pensive and sad, suddenly blaze with the same panic that had filled them out on the street.

He swallows. “A coincidence.” His voice sounds _cracked_ at its edges. 

In response, Rey arches an eyebrow. He has yet to pull up the facade of Occlumency, and she marvels that this overly emotive man somehow ended up as an Auror.

Slowly enough that she might withdraw if her courage falters, or sense resumes, she stands from her armchair and sinks into the couch beside him, her legs curled up beneath her. It feels… right.

Kylo watches her with wide eyes. He looks torn between walking out in awkwardness or burrowing himself into her.

She wants him to do the latter. Her hand shakes as she holds it out to him, her skin remembering the delicious warmth of his when they had held hands out on the street. He slides her palm against her, and the tiniest sigh escapes him.

Rey’s lips part as if to speak, but a loud tapping sound against the glass door to the balcony yanks her attention away. Her gaze snaps upwards. Kylo, with an Auror’s reflexes, already had one hand on his wand. 

She recognises BeeBee’s white feathers, stark against the night. With a chuckle, Rey rises and opens the balcony to allow him in. A bite of cold hits her skin, soon replaced by a shower of white downy feathers as BeeBee hovers frantically before her. He settles on her shoulder, nuzzling his head against her cheek. 

“Hello, love,” she coos. “Successful hunt?” He gives her fingers an affectionate nip. “We have company tonight.”

Suddenly, BeeBee hisses, and darts across the room. She watches a flurry of beating wings and sharp talons launch an assault on Kylo. One of his hands is held up as a shield to his face, but his wand arm hangs limply at his side. 

“BeeBee!" Rey yells. "What in Merlin's name has gotten into you?" Her wand is drawn, but at the terseness in her tone, the owl relents. He swoops over to his perch, but continues to regard Kylo with wariness and anger. "This isn't how we treat guests!" After a few moments scolding, BeeBee looks abashed, but his eyes burn with something close to anger. Rey sighs. BeeBee had always been a mercurial sort, but she had never known him to attack someone.

When she turns to apologise to Kylo, she sees he has stepped onto the balcony. He stands hunched over the railing, and even in the dark she can see him visibly shivering without his jacket.

“Kylo?” she calls softly into the night, stepping onto the balcony. The breeze is gentle, like a caress, but bitterly cold. The trees below groan, their leaves rustling. Rey steps close, and places a hand on Kylo’s shoulder. He sighs, and his own palm reaches up to cup her hand. “I'm sorry for that. BeeBee’s normally very friendly - I don't know what's gotten into him tonight. Honestly, I feel like the worst hostess in the world,” she says with a weary chuckle. “You help me fend off Dementors, and I invite you back to my home, only for my pet owl to attack you. A very poor thanks indeed.”

His thumb brushes over her knuckle, and he sighs. She shivers, but this time not from the cold. “It’s fine, Rey.” The way he says her name, the way his mouth cradles its single syllable, sends a lick of fire to her veins. He straightens up, turns to her with an impassable expression. Clearly, he had rallied his reserves to shield his emotions once more. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome anyway.”

Before she can rationalise, she reaches for his sleeve in a loose grip. Ragged breaths escape him, and a frown tugs at the corners of his mouth. 

It’s as if, after a lifetime of loneliness, something snaps within her. 

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers. There is no high-pitched whine, no plaintive tone. Just four words, plainly spoken, that feel uncomfortably like begging. 

Kylo swallows again. He stares at her in silence for a moment, a war waging in his eyes, before giving a curt nod. “I won’t. But I think we need to warm up first.”

With a wordless charm, he conjures up a small fire. Rey waves her wand over some stray leaves from the Judas tree in the garden below, and transfigures them into two tartan blankets, which she settles over their shoulders. They sit on the bench overlooking the garden. The same bench that Rey had always lamented was too large… It had clearly been built for two.

Rey’s eyes scan the darkness below, for any motion or rustling of Reynard. Tonight, her little fox is absent. But Kylo is much better company, she thinks with a guilty smile. Even if there is an uneasiness to him. She supposes it’s just the normal paranoia of an Auror, but it astounds her how comfortable she feels around him. 

They recline on opposite sides of the bench, feet almost touching. He catches sight of the hole in her sock, and there is an exasperated fondness in his expression. 

She pours them both another glass of firewhiskey and that emboldens her enough to ask, "Why didn't you want to interrogate me?"

Kylo runs a hand through his hair, becoming suddenly enamoured with the ice in his glass. "Because it didn't feel right." 

“Well, that’s a lame answer,” she counters, but there is no malice in her tone. “Why was I even on your radar anyway?”

“Radar?” A smile teases the corner of his lips.

“Sorry, Muggle word. It means-.” 

"I have a Muggle dad," he interrupts gently. "Radar, I understand. Never could get my head around the off-side rule though, no matter how much he tries to explain it."

Rey chuckles. "You're better at evading questions than asking them, you know that?"

Kylo actually laughs - a deep, throaty sound that causes Rey's heart to quicken. He tips the glass to his lips and downs its contents in a single gulp. "Then it's a good thing I bottled that interrogation. You would have given me a run for my money."

"That _still_ doesn't explain why I ended up at the Ministry last night.” She tries to keep the words light, but Kylo's smile melts away. "What about me screamed ‘has knowledge of Death Eater activity’?"

“Because desperation trumps sense, and the Ministry are getting desperate,” he says in a hard, bitter tone. He reaches for her hand once more. “I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night.” He stares at the ice in his glass for a moment, letting it clink against the side before continuing. “It was…”

“Boorish? Rude? Crazed? Unbalanced?” 

He huffs a laugh. "I would have settled for dickhead, but yes to all of the above."

"Well, pour me another drink and I might forgive you," Rey says with a teasing glint, downing the rest of her own firewhiskey. It burns her tongue, but the warmth is pleasant. She passes him the empty glass, feeling the soft brush of his fingers against hers.

"I can do that, but I still think a proper apology is called for." His smile is uneasy, his words earnest. "I've never meant you any upset or distress, I hope you know that, Rey."

She nods. "Apology accepted. Now, where's that drink you promised me?"

* * *

Words flow easier than alcohol. Rey cannot remember the last time she had ever opened up so readily to a stranger. She forgets the cold, the worry, the danger, and lets the conversation flow.

Comfortable. That's the only word she can find to describe this bizarre domestic charade. She can almost envision them doing this every night - sitting beneath a polluted sky which obscures the stars, and simply _talking_. She thinks of Finn and Rose, and the snippets of their married life she has observed. How it felt like looking in at happiness she would never taste, never enjoy herself. 

Her gaze drifts above the rooftops, to the hazy lights of tower blocks in the distance. Her heart pangs with the memory of her childhood home, of looking out at the city through dirt-encrusted windows, wondering if she would ever escape the endless cycle of poverty and pain and addiction. 

She pushes away her drink, the alcohol suddenly tasting of cinders in her mouth. 

“Thank you for not asking me what memories the Dementors dragged up for me,” Rey says quietly.

Kylo places his own glass on the ground, and reaches for her hand. Before she realises, she is in his arms, his hand rubbing soothing circles against her back. She has never really enjoyed being touched by others, but this feels right. Welcoming. Her eyes sting but she refuses to allow tears to fall. She leans her brow against his shoulder, let's the warm puff of his breath against her brow calm her. The scent of sandalwood from his cologne is almost dizzying.

“When I tell people that I’m a healer,” she says, her voice hard, “They can’t wait to ask about what the worst thing I’ve ever seen is. Or questions about genital related mishaps.” She snorts. “And of course, they get annoyed when I won’t indulge their little schadenfreude. Apart from making a spectacle of someone's most vulnerable moments - which is wrong - I'm not sharing my trauma. You probably get asked the same thing? Because people want to enjoy your trauma vicariously. They want it just palatable enough to be scandalises but without the guilt or the flashbacks or the nightmares.”

There is a knowing glint in Kylo’s eyes, and his mouth is hard. “I couldn't do what you do,” he says softly. “At least and have any hope left in humanity.” 

“Says the Auror,” she retorts without heat. She points to the distance. “You see those Muggle tower blocks on the other side of the river?” Kylo nods. “I was born near there,” she says. “I grew up on one of those estates. It wasn't a good home. My parents…" her voice hitches.

Soft fingers brush against her cheek. "Your parents had the greatest treasure in the world, but were too blind to recognise it. They don't deserve a moment of your time, or a single one of your tears." His lips move in a hot, wet trail along her brow. "You're brilliant, and compassionate, and one of the strongest people I have ever known." 

Rey looks at him with tear-glazed eyes. "You can tell that after less than a day?"

Something flickers across his face, but his expression is so unashamedly earnest that she believes every word. "I would know that after five minutes," he murmurs into her hair. "Do you know why your Patronus is a fox?" Rey shakes her head, and knocks loose a single tear. "It's because you are clever, resourceful and resilient."

A wet, blubbery chuckle escapes her, and she buries it against his shoulder. "And I thought it was because I liked foxes."

She isn’t falling in love with him, Rey tells herself. She’s tired and lonely and overwrought, and simply enjoying his company. Tomorrow, he will go off to duel Dark Wizards, and she will heal wounds and wash away memories, and tonight will be but a dream. 

Still, she likes to imagine a world without Sidious. Without the constant buzzing fear of death; without the daily parade of pain and trauma she has to wade through. Where Kylo is just a man she met, whose sullen mien she likes to coax smiles from, whose warm hands cradle hers as they walk through the streets or through the park, whose body she holds close in a dance. 

Somewhere in the distance, there comes the rumble of thunder. The air feels heavy and damp. Even with the warmth of her blanket, and the heat in her gaze, she shivers.

"Come on," Kylo says gently, tugging her to her feet. "Let's go inside and put the kettle on."

Perhaps the alcohol emboldens her. Perhaps the fear of the inevitable emptiness that will return after he has departed makes her brave. Or perhaps it is just desperation. Once they have crossed the threshold, and closed the balcony door behind them, Rey grabs the front of his shirt, stands on her tiptoes, and presses her lips to his.

For half a second, he freezes. Doubt creeps in, and Rey prepares to rip her mouth from his. But his hands slide into her hair and he moves those soft lips against hers. 

Their kiss is fire; it consumes her senses, burns her skin, and floods her with molten heat. His tongue gently probes at the seam of her lips. She parts them with a gasp, which he swallows in their kiss. Her fingers thread through his inky black hair.

When they part, and she stares into those hypnotic eyes, her heart stops. His pupils are blown black with desire.

Deep in her marrow, she knows that she never wants to be kissed by anyone other than Kylo again.

* * *

How they end up in her bedroom, his lips soft and insistent on hers, her fingers entangled in his hair and her legs around his waist, is a blur. All she knows is sensation - warmth, strength, muscles like iron and irises blackened with desire.

He places her on the floor, his huge hands spanning her waist as he spins her around. Warm fingers sweep aside her hair and he begins to lavish kisses on her neck in a hot, wet trail. The tickle of his beard against her skin surprises a laugh out of her.

"Tell me to stop," he rasps. " _Please._ "

"And what if I don't want you to?" She says on a breathy moan, as his lips nibble at her ear.

"I don't have the strength to resist you anymore." The words ghost over her skin, and she only half-registers them, so consumed in the violent tenderness of his touch. All of her exhaustion and fatigue melts away.

His hands are gentle as they loosen the buttons at the back of her dress. A low moan escapes Rey as Kylo kisses every inch of uncovered skin. 

Soon, the dress puddles at her feet. She steps out of it, and begins to claw at his clothing. With every discarded garment, more scars are revealed. The same scars she had imagined when she touched herself in the early hours of the morning. The same burn on his shoulder - but any further questioning on how she knew of its existence is swallowed in the torrent of desire his kisses and caresses unleash upon her.

He just seems to _know_ how to play her body; how to wring every drop of pleasure from her. She would think he was using Legilimency if not for the raw abandon on his face.

He looks at her like the first shoot of green after eternal winter, the gentle rainfall that ends the drought. He looks at her with so much raw emotion the air is sucked from her lungs.

They pause long enough for Rey to cast a contraceptive charm, drawing the tip of her cedar wand against her bare abdomen. Even as the spell settles, and she feels a tingling warmth within her, she finds herself imagining what a child of theirs would look like - his dark hair, her eyes and freckles. She shakes her head as if to empty that thought from her mind.

Kylo's grip on her hand as he moves within her is bruising. But his lips are gentle, his touch worshipful. This isn't the exhilaration of a man desperate for some life affirming activity after a brush with death, nor seeking a salve for comfort. He is almost drunk on her pleasure.

They share a firewhiskey tinged kiss, and her cheeks come away wet with his tears. 

In the afterglow, once their breathing has settled, Rey lies boneless and sated in his arms, her head pillowed on his unmarred shoulder. She kisses the smooth skin, even as her fingers dance across his chest to touch the burn on his other shoulder.

_How had she known of its existence?_ she wonders again. Divination had never been a skill of hers - she held the whole subject with a degree of heavy skepticism; and whilst Rose's sister Paige had been prone to prophetic dreams with an eerie degree of accuracy, Rey had never experienced such herself. 

She lifts her eyes and sees Kylo watch her with a quizzical expression. She blushes, and moves to withdraw her hand. But Kylo grasps it, and lays it over his heart.

"You're wondering how I got that scar?" He asks, brushing his lips against her brow. Rey gives a tiny, bashful nod. "It's a long story, but the short version involves my cousin, an Erumpent horn and concerningly low levels of parental supervision. Uncle Lu-" he clears his throat, "I thought my uncle was going to kill us both."

They share a laugh, and Rey slides up to kiss him on the lips. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to give me the long version?" She asks, her final words swallowed in a yawn. 

Kylo chuckles, and brushes her nose with his own. "Later. You need to be awake enough to savour it." He kisses her again, slow and languid and intoxicating. 

Rey shakes her head in protest, but another yawn escapes her. Already her eyelids are beginning to droop. "Promise?" 

He drops another kiss into her hair. "I promise." The words come out oddly strained, but his arms snake around her waist to hold her close. "Sleep well, my love."

_My love._ A pleasant heat suffuses her body at the words, and even as the darkness of sleep envelopes her, Rey's lips curl into a smile.

* * *

Rey feels a shift in the bed, and it jostles her from sleep. Her fingers claw at the emptiness beside her, but the sheets feel _warm_. 

Her eyes snap open.

Kylo sits on the edge of the bed, his skin almost translucent in the moonlight. His posture is hunched - this Adonis of a man, crouched like a frightened child. A quiet sob rips from his throat, and he tugs roughly at his hair.

Rey watches him for a moment, feels her heart constrict. 

"Kylo?" She whispers, as if trying to calm a skittish hippogriff. Her fingers brush the bare skin of his back. 

When he turns around, there is a look of _guilt_ carved onto his features, deeper than even his scars. A frisson of fear reverberates down her spine and rattles in her very soul.

"I should have had more self-control," Kylo says in a choked voice. "But I'm weak; I always have been." Trembling fingers reach for her face, and brush a lock of hair from her eye. "You were always the strong one out of the two of us."

The fuzziness of sleep is receding, and confusion settles over her. "I don't understand… Kylo, I met you _two days_ ago."

Even so, the words feel wrong on her tongue. Since the moment she laid eyes on him in the Ministry, she had been struck with overwhelming familiarity. And now dread pools in her gut.

He lets out a strangled chuckle. "From a certain point of view - yes, you met Kylo Ren yesterday."

"No." She shakes her head and knocks loose a few tears. "I would remember if I met you before…" She wraps the sheet further around herself - an insulator against the cold and a comfort against rising dread.

Kylo reaches for his wand, and wordlessly summons his jacket. He fumbles in the pockets for a few minutes, before he pulls out a photo and hands it to her with quivering fingers. 

"I made sure you wouldn't," he says, his gaze focused on a shadow dancing from the window as she accepts the picture from his grasp.

It's like watching a curse land in slow motion; knowing you're unable to block. Her mind screams _lies_ even as her eyes drink in the figures in the image.

It's _them_ , leaning against the bonnet of a scruffy car. _A Ford Falcon_ , her mind tells her. The Kylo in the photo is clean-shaven and his skin is unmarred. He looks almost _boyish_. His hair is longer, and he gives a dimpled smile that reveals his crooked teeth when he throws back his head in a laugh. A younger, happier Rey sits beside him, alternating between kissing him and tickling him. 

But it is the look on her photographic self's face that steals Rey's breath away. She looks happy - deliriously so - and unequivocally in _love_.

_No_ , she wants to protest. Photos - even magical ones - can be bewitched, their images distorted to sinister ends. But even as her brain races ahead, flitting between denial and excuses with the speed of a golden snitch in motion, her heart throbs with the unequivocal knowledge that this is true.

"Why?" She whispers. 

He looks at her with a pained gaze, as though the Cruciatus curse had been cast upon him. "Because I love you," he says, and fat tears fall again from his eyes. "Because I would do anything to protect you."

She nods primly, the only muscles in her body willing to move.

Silence stretches for a lifetime - or perhaps only a minute - before she loosens her tongue. "Kylo isn't your real name, is it?"

He shakes his head. "Ben. My name is Ben Solo."

Her body instinctively reacts to the word. A hitch in her breath, a quickening of her pulse and a warmth in her skin. Better than the relief of a Dementor's retreat, better than a fire, better than the flush of an orgasm. 

"Ben." Even in the haze of her confusion and the building anger within her, the name suits him.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver ring. With trembling hands, he slips it onto her ring finger. 

It fits.

Of course it fits. 

Kylo, Ben, or _whoever_ he is, then brings her hand to his lips to kiss the cool metal. As he does so, his eyes meet hers. Their eyes had met as he kissed between her thighs. But this kiss is so much more intimate, and she yanks her hand from his grasp.

Thoughts race through her mind; she climbs out of bed and tugs on that huge black cashmere jumper. It had always felt like a comfort… but, as she gazes upon this man who is both a stranger and - Rey's heart stutters over the word - her _husband_ , she realises where the jumper must have come from. Or whom it must have belonged to.

Air rushes from her lungs. Every detail of her home is suddenly cast in a new light. The half-empty wardrobe… the second coat peg in the hallway… BeeBee's rage-filled reaction to him… 

Pain blooms behind her temples. Her body thrums with anger, and even the windows vibrate with the sheer force of it. She feels raw, like an exposed nerve. Like a single misspoken word will shatter her.

"You Obliviated me," she says, in the most dispassionate voice she can muster. Perhaps he nods; but she cannot bear to even look at him, as though the sight of him would cause the volcanic force of her emotions to explode.

_Sandalwood, ink and old books,_ purrs in her mind. Why she must have broached the subject of shared Patronuses with Professor Tano so many years ago. Half-remembered stories Finn and Rose tell her when they reminisce. Hell, their reaction to the name Kylo Ren… 

Losing a marriage, losing the memory of love that the stranger in the photograph - the woman she once was - is bad enough. But it feels as though half of her life has been erased. 

The windows shatter with a deafening crack. She kneels hunched on the floor, her lips parted in a silent scream. 

Strong arms wrap themselves around her, pulling her away from the shattered glass. He holds her close - her _husband_ holds her close, but all she feels is nausea and rage. 

When she can finally bear to look at him, there is such pain in his eyes it almost pierces the cloud of her anger.

_Almost_.

"Why did you do it, Ben?" She asks quietly. The scent of sweat and tears and sandalwood threatens to choke her. 

"Because I love you, Rey," he whispers, his voice thick with tears. "Because I would do anything to protect you, even cut out my own heart." 

Her nails dig into his forearm, hard enough to draw blood. But still he holds her close, as if his very life depended on it. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Ben's confession, Rey must deal with the emotional fallout...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read/commented/left kudos on this fic. I am grateful to each and every one of you ❤
> 
> (And if you saw the chapter count creep up again... 🤡)
> 
> Content warning for discussion of trauma, torture, medical procedures and genocide.
> 
> Rey is going to ride an emotional rollercoaster in this chapter. Ben may have had (in his eyes, at least) a compelling reason for erasing her memory, but that doesn't negate the hurt and betrayal she feels. TROS did an awful job of handling Rey's pain, and so I hope I can do her some justice here.

Rey's bedroom floor - _their_ bedroom floor - is a graveyard of glass shards by the time Ben steers her to her feet, and into the living room. His hands on her back feel at once a comfort and a curse as he guides her to her favourite armchair. Rey curls her bare legs beneath her, covers them with his jumper. Ben drops to his knees before her. His hands hover above hers, as if afraid to touch her.

She doesn't shout or weep or hex or lash out. Fury burns hot, but fast, and all that remains of her rage are the ashes. She ought to feel violated - that he had taken the most precious moments of her life and erased them like chalk on a blackboard - but all she feels right now is _numb_. 

Anger will rear its head again, and the snarling beast of betrayal will howl and demand satisfaction in blood. But for now, her emotions are dormant.

They sit for what feels like an age in virulent silence. Rey is accustomed to silence, now. The deafening quiet of an empty home and an empty bed and an empty heart. Loneliness did not break her. Silence is nothing in comparison. 

It is Ben who shatters it. "Say something," he rasps. "Please…"

"Why did you do it, Ben? And please-" she lifts a hand to still his next words. "Don't you _dare_ -" her voice cracks on that single syllable, "Tell me it was an act of love. Stealing someone's memories is not a grand romantic gesture I'm familiar with."

Ben flinches as though she has punched him. But he nods, causing stray hairs to fall into his eyes. Her fingers itch to brush them back; but the idea of touching him fills her with mingled longing and revulsion.

She wishes he had never come back.

Her eyes snap to BeeBee, seated on his perch at the other end of the room like a sentinel. The reasons for his outburst earlier come sharply into focus.

"It's a long story…" Ben sighs. He shifts his position to sit, rather than kneel at her feet. His knees crack at the motion. Unbidden, Rey feels her lips quirk into a small smile. "Do you still visit Professor Skywalker on your lunch break?" She nods, frowning, but allows him to continue speaking. "Do you remember what happened to him?"

Professor Skywalker… she rifles her memory - what's left of its patchwork after his Memory charm - and tries to follow the path of his thoughts.

Yes, she remembers. The stricken look on Finn and Professor Jade-Skywalker's faces as they half-carried him into the hospital. The stench of blood and filth clinging to his ruined clothes. The agony burning like acid in her chest as she examined him with trembling hands. He had been the one to nurture her ambition to become a healer, and never did she imagine him ending up as her patient, especially like this: half dead with exsanguination from the Sectumsempra curse, and alternating between speaking in garbled words and animalistic wails. Of coaxing him into drinking potions to replenish his blood, and hopefully restore his sanity. And, branded onto her mind like a scar, the dawning horror that Professor Skywalker's condition wasn't the result of a potion or particularly wicked Confundus Charm; nor was this malady likely to have a cure.

"He was tortured by Dark Wizards, wasn't he?" She says, and closes her eyes against her sting of remembered tears. Unconsciously, her free hand rubs her sternum, as if to soothe the pain. 

A choked sound escapes Ben's throat. "Torture is too humane a word for what that monster did to him." Vitriol drips from his every word, and it chills Rey to the marrow. He reaches for hand as if to steady and soothe himself, to muster the strength to continue speaking. His next words are directed at her knuckle. "Sidious himself ripped into his mind - over and _over_ again - and his pathetic Death Eaters took turns practising the Cruciatus curse on him. Some of them had been his students, people he had once nurtured and supported, but still they _brutalized_ him. _Four_ days they had him-" His next words are lost on a sob.

Offering comfort should be instinctive to a healer; that is what compels Rey to brush away a single tear from his scarred cheek. Even her steadily building anger and frustration cannot quell her compassion. In response to her touch, Ben bundles her into his arms even as she squaks and mewls in protest. 

After a few moments, he releases her from his embrace, his face abashed as though he recognises the line he has crossed. "Sorry," he says, clearing his throat. "Where was I?"

"Sidious torturing Professor Skywalker," she says in a quiet voice.

"Yes," he replies. His fists clench and unclench, as though fighting the urge to touch her again. "What you have to understand, Rey, is that it wasn't just wanton sadism. Luke was targeted; targeted for a secret which he alone could divulge."

"And what secret was that?" she asks, her fingers digging into the armrests of her chair. Reliving those dark days, that pain at seeing her beloved teacher and mentor broken beyond her skill to fix, has rekindled her emotions. Now, her anger and irritation feel like a cauldron about to fizz and bubble over.

Ben sucks in a breath. "Do you know what a horcrux is?"

The very word sends a chill over Rey's skin. "It's a receptacle for a fragment of a Dark Wizard's soul," she says slowly, adding with a roll of her eyes, "I _did_ pay attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you know."

A pained chuckle escapes him. "I know you did… good thing too, otherwise you'd have caught me staring at you when I should have been listening."

Her voice - when it emerges - is oddly high pitched. "You were in my class?" 

Rey knows abandonment. Her parents never wanted her. They had thrown her aside no matter how ardently she tried to love them. But she had found solace, found belonging and happiness at Hogwarts.

 _Sandalwood, ink and old books…_ the scent of Amortentia…

Just how long had she known him, loved him? And now, to know that he has tampered and erased memories of those halcyon times… 

Ben nods; and _that_ breaks her. 

"What part of my life haven't you taken from me!?" She screams, her vision clouded with tears. "Did you think I wouldn't notice anything missing? I felt that something had been ripped from me, like half of my soul was missing!" 

Her words land like blows. Ben stiffens, as effectively as though she had cast a Body Bind Curse upon him. But he allows her to yell and weep and unleash the torrent of her fury, until that too has burned itself out.

"I've been so lonely," she rasps, and against every instinct she is reaching for him, hot tears scalding the bare skin of his chest. Sandalwood. Even now, after their exertions and their tears, he _still_ smells of sandalwood. 

"I'm here now," he murmurs, his own tears lost in her hair. "And I will _never_ leave you again."

Rey sniffles, wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of his abandoned jumper. His face is blotchy from crying, and she suspects her own looks no better. "I still don't understand. What do Horcruxes and our old Potions master have to do with why you decided to… to me?" Her lips can't even form the word.

Ben guides her not to her armchair, but to the sofa. He sighs, and cradles one of her hands in both of huge palms. 

"The Ministry, the Order of the Phoenix… They've been after Sidious for decades," he begins tonelessly. This isn't Occlumency now. It is the voice of man drained of all emotions until only hollowness remains.

Good, she thinks savagely. He deserves to know what that feels like. 

"But the man is unkillable," Ben continues. "He's survived at least a dozen fatal duels. Some of our best Aurors have died fighting him. Mace Windu, Saw Gerrera, Aayala Secura, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi…" His eyes close, and he sucks in a harsh breath. "All landed a Killing Curse on him, and yet he survived whilst they perished…" 

"And… you think he has a Horcrux?" Rey asks, her brow furrowed. It feels like she is on the verge of an answer, of a revelation, but it dangles tantalisingly out of reach.

Ben shakes his head; when he speaks again, his voice is hard as flint. "Not just one. Seven." He lets the implication hang in the air for a moment, and Rey feels the burn of bile in her throat. "Before he died, Qui-Gon figured it out. And he found them; all seven of them." Ben shudders. "I daren't even think about how much blood was lost - on both sides - to obtain them."

A pain blooms behind Rey's temple. Once again she reaches for him, needing the comfort of his touch again. "But won't they still… work, even when he doesn't have them?" Ben nods, and she bites her lip. "So they need to be destroyed," she says breathlessly. "And let me guess - they're impervious to most types of magic?"

A watery smile - one that does not meet his eyes - crosses his features. "Exactly. And until we could destroy them, they had to be hidden. Separately, of course, their locations protected by the Fidelius Charm. Seven horcruxes, seven Secret Keepers. Luke was one of them…" As Ben's voice trails off, something dark seems to come over him. His eyes burn with a rage almost apocalyptic in its power. "I don't know who betrayed him," he adds in a low, dangerous voice, "And if I ever find out, there won't be enough of them left to send to Azkaban…" 

But something pricks at the edge of Rey's thoughts. Not an old memory, fighting it's way to the surface, but something more recent. Something he had said - or not quite said - when they were entwined in bed.

His gaze is too angry, too intensive for Rey to bear, and her eyes fall instead to his bare chest. To the strange burn on his left shoulder that had so fascinated her as they had lain in bed - their bed - in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Slowly, her fingers trace the puckered skin; his posture relaxes under her ministrations, but a furrow creases her brow. Exploding Erumpent's horns… A furious uncle…

Uncle…

_Ben?_

"He's your Uncle," she tells his chest. 

A tremor fills her body, and she feels the fresh lash of betrayal against her soul. That strange look that had filled Finn's features, the way he had reacted to the name Kylo Ren… Every time he had changed the subject when her memory had become hazy. 

And the woman at Luke's bedside earlier, the one who had embraced Rey as a daughter and looked upon her with such sadness...

Rey drops her hand, and her eyes snap to Ben's. "And Finn is your _cousin_."

His breath is a ragged thing. "Yes - but he's completely blameless in this! Please, please Rey…" He reaches for her cheek; but she jerks her head from his reach. "Please let me finish, and then you can do what you want. Punch me, hex me - you can even use the Cruciatus Curse on me if you so desire - Merlin knows, I probably deserve it. But _please_ let me finish."

She folds her arms across her chest, nods her ascent for him to continue speaking. 

Ben runs a hand through his hair, and bites his lip. "When Luke was betrayed… You know what Qui-Gon did? Whilst Finn and I and my mother and my aunt were frantically tearing the country apart to find him, our _dear leader_ was too concerned protecting his precious _Horcrux_." Every word is soaked in venom as it falls from his lips. "Including finding a new Secret Keeper rather than rescuing his current one."

Clarity hits her with the force of a punch. "Me?" All the fight, all the anger and the rage and the energy seeps out of her. 

"Yes," he breathes. Weariness settles over him like a cloak; and now she does not resist as he cups her cheek in his hand. "He was good at that - preying on the bravery and loyalty of others, letting them step into harm's way in his stead. My Uncle was tortured for his loyalty, and instead of helping to find him, save him, Qui-Gon threw my wife to the same wolves." His eyes are brimming with tears, and she feels the same sting in her own. "And every day, I sat at Luke's bedside, knowing that the same thing could easily happen to you. " His thumb brushes the apple of her cheek. "I punched Qui-Gon, you know."

A surprised sound escapes her. "You… _punched_ our old Headmaster?" Ben shrugs his shoulders. Before she knows it, a giggle bubbles forth, and suddenly they are both laughing. It's indecent, really, but the image of Ben Solo, apoplectic with rage, getting into a physical altercation with the most powerful wizard alive and their former teacher… 

There's something rich and warming about Ben's laugh. Even amidst their mutual emotional tumult, it feels familiar. Welcoming, even if tonight is the first time she has heard it.

That thought sobers her. He must see the change in her countenance, for his face hardens.

"In the bedroom…" she murmurs, bitterness seeping into her tone, "You said you were trying to protect me. But… I still don't understand… you _left_ me."

"It was never my choice," he says. "Qui-Gon was a Machiavellian bastard. He knew where people's loyalties lay, and he preyed upon them. My loyalty was never to him; it has always been first and foremost to my family. To my _wife_. You were only in danger whilst Sidious lived; with the Horcruxes, he is effectively immortal. But, find a way to destroy them…" His tone is so earnest it pierces every layer of cynicism and anger she has enclosed herself in. "Then you would be safe. I could come home. These three years without you… They have been the most awful of my life."

She screws her eyes shut. She had guessed that her memories had been taken soon after Luke's attack. But hearing it spoken aloud… Knowing how many years of love had been lost to her, is unbearable. 

"Where did you go?" 

Ben runs a hand through his hair. "Has Finn ever talked about our grandfather?"

Rey shakes her head. 

"Well, let's just say there are parts of our family legacy that we deserve to feel ashamed of. My grandfather was born Anakin Skywalker, but you might know him by a different name. Darth Vader."

Several years working at St Mungo's had rendered Rey unshockable. Or so she had believed. But at the mention of that name - a figure still spoken of in hushed tones in their History of Magic class - she gasps.

Ben fidgets. "Like I say, not something to be proud of. But Qui-Gon knew that little family secret. And he realised it could be used - _I_ could be used - to gain the trust and knowledge of some very dark and dangerous people…" He sighs. "Over in the States, there's a group of wizards who call themselves the First Order. They're basically the same pureblood supremacists as Sidious, just with stars and stripes." His mouth makes a moue of distaste. "Snoke - their leader - was positively ebullient when Darth Vader's grandson prostrated himself before him and asked to join his merry gang of murderers and megalomaniacs." An eye roll follows this pronouncement. "I hated every second of my time with them; but if anyone might know how to destroy a powerful dark object…" 

"It would be another Dark Wizard," Rey finishes. She stands up, begins to pace. Her voice wavers. "So, to summarise… I was - I _am_ \- married to the grandson of one of the most notorious Dark Wizards in living memory. I am the Secret Keeper for the location of one of the most dangerous magical objects known to mankind. My _husband_ -" she spits out the word, "decided the solution to that particular quandary was to Obliviate me and go play pretend with an American Dark Wizard. Did I miss anything?"

Ben gives an awkward shrug. "Well, when you put it like that…"

His attempt at levity only incenses her. 

"Why are you here, Ben? Did you just fancy a quick shag before your guilt forced you to own up? Are all those American witches not as good in bed as me?"

The words are deliberately cruel; she gasps as soon as they leave her mouth. Ben looks utterly stricken.

"No," he whispers. "I have never… There has only ever been _you_ , Rey. There will only ever be you." He reaches for her hand, caresses the cool metal of her ring. "Even if you never forgive me, never want me again… It would physically repulse me to be with anyone else. I'd sooner die alone."

Those words conjure up the memory of that ill-fated blind date she had gone on last year, of how _wrong_ even that chaste kiss had felt. Although Ben had been wiped clean from her conscious mind, her body knew him. _Wanted_ him and him alone.

Soulmates are as much a myth to witches and wizards as to Muggles. Two souls, tied together by a red string of fate… She had always regarded the notion as ludicrous. Yet, as she gazes upon her _husband_ , Rey knows with fierce surety that Ben Solo is her soulmate. Irrespective of whether she forgives him for his actions - whether she even _can_ \- their lives and hearts are inexorably entwined. Unpicking them would be like splitting the Gordian knot. The very act would destroy them both.

But that is a problem for tomorrow.

So Rey sucks in a breath. "And… did you find out how to destroy them?"

Ben nods. Relief floods his face. "Yes. I did. And I've destroyed six of them already. Only yours remains." His free hand reaches for her face, touches her with such tender affection and love that Rey can't meet his eyes. "We can end Sidious now. Everything he stands for - all the pain and cruelty and the _genocide_ \- all of that can die with him _tonight._ All I have to do is restore your memory. _"_

"And what if I don't want to remember?" Rey snaps.

Of course she wants to. Oh, how desperately she wants to taste to love that her photographic self is drunk upon. Wants to remember the gaps. But it hurts… hurts to know how methodically he had removed all traces of himself from her life, with the precision of a scalpel rather than a sledgehammer.

"You don't mean that, Rey," he says, but uncertainty leeches into his tone.

"You speak with such authority, as if you haven't been cavorting with dark wizards and Merlin knows what else for the last three years! Don't presume to know me." The words come out as a snarl. 

In her job as a healer, Rey had learned to compartmentalise - to tuck away pain into boxes for and focus on the task at hand. So she shakes her head to clear her thoughts. "You're right," she says in the steadiest tone she can muster, "As always, I suspect. Bet you were a Ravenclaw." 

"And proud of it," he says on a relieved exhale. "So you'll do it?"

Rey nods. "I'll do it. So tell me, Ben," she says with an arched eyebrow. "How much experience do you have with restoring memories rather than erasing them?" _As you seem to be eerily proficient at the latter_ , she wants to add. 

"None." 

"Well, since the fate of our world depends on this being done properly, I hope you'll forgive me if I don't settle for an amateur." 

* * *

They dress separately. Though Ben had enjoyed full access to her body earlier - and even now, the memory of his worshipful caresses and soft kisses and the adoring way he had made love to her causes desire to stir within her again - it feels too intimate now. 

The bedroom is frigid, night air pouring into it through the shattered remnants of the window. But right now, she has neither the energy nor inclination to fix it. 

She sits curled up on the armchair whilst Ben changes. BeeBee flutters over and lands on her shoulder. He nuzzles against her temple; the only comfort she truly wants in this moment. 

"You're the only one who never lied to me," she tells him, offering her finger to him for an affectionate nip. "Thank you for always being there for me."

Ben emerges from the bedroom, dressed in the garb of Kylo Ren. For such a tall, imposing figure he looks small, his shoulders hunched and one hand rubbing the sleeve of his shirt.

"I hope you don't mind," he says, his throat bobbing in a nervous swallow, "But I mended the window."

"Why should I mind?" she replies tersely, her eyes focused on BeeBee as she pats his fluffy white head. "It's your house as well."

A ragged sigh escapes him; but before he can formulate an answer, there is a loud rapping at the front door, immediately followed by the grating metallic voice of the lion's head knocker. 

_"Too late, my time has come; sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time."_

Rey heard a frustrated groan. " _Goodbye everybody - I've got to go; gotta leave you all behind and face the truth_ ," a male voice warbles on the other side of the door, cracking on the final word. "Why do I always get lumbered with the high notes?" Finn grumbles.

Ben freezes. It is Rey who goes to the door. As soon as it opens, two familiar sets of arm pull her into an embrace she can't return except in the most perfunctory manner. 

Merlin's beard, was it only a few hours ago that she had been in Rose and Finn's arms, and drawn comfort from their touch? Betrayal beats its drums alongside her heartbeat. Ben may have committed the original sin; but he at least had the decency to disappear. He has lied to her for two days; her friends, the two people she loves above all others, who know her darkest moments and brightest highs, her worst secrets and her dearest dreams, have lied to her for _three years._

Finn is the first to pull away. His eyes are wild, almost frantic as he scans the vestibule. "Where is he?"

With shuffling footsteps, Ben enters the hallway. In an instant, Finn has crossed the distance between them and enveloped his cousin in his arms. Great sobs rip forth from them both. They press their brows together (Ben is several inches taller and Finn has to crane his neck to reach) and their faces wet with shared tears. 

"Dad remembers," Finn rasps. "He has these… lucid moments, sometimes, when me or Leia is with him, and he asks where you are." He pulls away and gives Ben's shoulder a mock punch. "Where the fuck have you been anyway?"

Ben huffs. "It's a long story." He then turns to the two women, still standing beside the door. "Hi, Rose. Long time no see."

If the last few hours hadn't been surreal enough, Rey is rendered speechless by the sight of Rose launching herself at a man nearly twice her height, and landing a punch on his nose with a sickening _crunch._ Ben stumbles backwards with a pained cry, a bloodstained hand on his face.

Rey is at her husband's side in an instant. She pries the hand away from his bruised and bloodied nose, and presses gently over the bridge. He hisses at the gesture, even though his gaze is full of trust and warmth. "Well Rose," she deadpans, reaching for her wand, "I think you broke it."

"Could have told you that myself," Ben mutters as Rey begins to murmur a healing spell. Her wand tip glows, illuminating his features and the long line of his scar. That scar had been absent in the photograph… how had he acquired it, and when? It looks old, and she wonders if he would allow her to try healing it? 

The bones snap back into place. Ben gingerly presses on his nose, a smile creeping onto his face when the motion does not pain him. "Thank you," he tells Rey.

"For healing you, or for not punching you myself?"

He breathes a laugh, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "For both." His touch lingers on her jaw; a soft, reverential caress. Rey blushes. Their gazes fall to the other's lips, and for the briefest moment she has the urge to kiss him. Whatever cool professionalism she had applied to healing him cracks. Her thumb traces the seam of his lips, recalling how soft they felt pressed against her own. How - even as her mind had no memory of Ben - her body recognised him. Missed him. Yearned for his kiss and his touch and his passionate embrace. 

Somewhere behind them, Finn clears his throat. Loudly. 

Rey drops her hand, and turns to face their audience. 

Rose has a thunderous look on her face; but her eyes are incongruously soft. "I'd forgotten how sickening you two could be." She steps towards them, and Ben gives an instinctive flinch. "You destroyed her, you know that?" 

Rey snorts. "As if you and Finn are totally innocent in this whole debacle. Ben just Obliviated me and left. _You_ both lied to me." 

"I know…" Rose replies with a bowed head. "And it's been eating away at me - at both of us - for years." She shares a meaningful look at Finn, who nods. "Rey, I'm so sorry." 

"Me too," Finn says. "Unbelievably sorry."

Their words are earnest, and Rey can see the guilt in their eyes - but her own pain is too raw for forgiveness at this time.

"I know," she tells them, unable to disguise the bitterness in her voice. So she shelves those feelings for now, folds her arms over her chest and adopts a matter-of-fact tone. "But we'll tackle that later. We have the more pressing issue of the Horcrux to deal with tonight." She turns to Finn. "Did you bring it?"

He nods, and pulls out a small bottle of golden liquid from his cloak. "I started brewing it as soon as we got home. What?" He adds at Rey's incredulous expression, "I just had a feeling we might need it soon. And I was right." A grin fills his face. "Not bad for the guy who got a D in his Divination O.W.L."

"Should have taken Arithmancy instead," Ben retorts. 

It has the feel of a familiar, well-trodden argument. There's a love between them, obvious after watching them for only a few minutes. Finn's pain these last few years was more than just for his father, Rey realises. He had been grieving for Ben as well.

So many years of love lost between them all, she thinks bitterly.

"Before we get into this _yet_ _again,_ " Rose says, "Can we give Rey her memories back?"

The four of them head towards Rey's bedroom; her hand hovers briefly over the doorknob as she hopes that Ben had the wherewithal to remake the bed in addition to fixing the shattered window. The last thing she wants is her friend seeing the evidence of her and Ben's lovemaking; knowing that she had jumped into bed with Kylo Ren mere hours after refusing to speak to him again…

Luckily, the covers are tucked in neatly, and the smell of sex has disappated. 

Rey sits on the bed and accepts the potion vial from Finn. It's golden contents glimmer in the lamp light, casting dazzling patterns onto the walls. 

"I promise, it tastes far worse than it looks," he quips with an arched brow. 

The potion burns in her mouth, and she grimaces after every mouthful. In the background, she watches Ben listen intently as Rose lectures him on the process of breaking a Memory Charm. 

"The Memory Potion will make Rey's brain more receptive to the countercharm," she says. "But we have to do this carefully. If we try to restore everything at once, we'll flood her mind and might drive her to madness."

Ben visibly blanches at that. 

"There's also no guarantee the specific memory we want - the Horcrux's location - will come out in the first wave," Rose adds. "We might have to have several sessions until we get that. Don't worry," she adds. "The first session is always the riskiest."

"I don't know…" he says, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, unable to tear his eyes from Rey.

"You made the choice to take my memories without consulting me," Rey retorts. "You don't get an opinion. I _want_ to do this." 

Tem's pale, frightened face burns in her mind, morphing into the accusing state of his grandmother. Over the last few months, Rey had healed dozens of children like him - innocent victims in a war they and their families could not understand. How helpless and powerless she had felt. And, the entire time, the key to ending this suffering - to preventing an imminent _genocide_ \- lay buried in her lost memories.

For that, Rey is willing to risk madness.

Once the potion has been consumed, she lays down in the centre of the bed. 

Ben leans over her, and squeezes her hand. "I'll see you on the other side, my love," he whispers as he brushes a kiss to her brow.

Rey offers him a watery smile. Both he and Rose sit at either side of her, their wand tips pointed at her temples. Her eyes flutter closed, and warmth fills her face. 

* * *

_She's eleven years old, short for her age and too lean and scrawny, only made worse by the oversized clothing she wears. Stale smoke and the scent of mould clings to the fabric. To_ **_her_ ** _. More than one nose had wrinkled as she wandered around King's Cross, looking for the platform. None of the elegantly dressed station guards would entertain her, let alone help her find this mysterious Platform Nine and Three Quarters._

_Her heart had lurched as the seconds ticked away. What if she never found it on time, and missed the train and had to creep back to her parents' dingy flat in humiliation?_

_But she had stumbled across an older girl - fifteen perhaps - carrying an owl cage, and had followed her. Paige Tico, she had introduced herself as when it became apparent she had acquired a shy and nervous shadow. And Paige had squeezed Rey's hand as they ran at the brick wall, and stumbled onto the secret platform. She had also introduced Rey to her younger sister Rose ("She's a first year like you!") and had helped them find an empty carriage before dashing off to join the other Prefects._

_In an enclosed space, Rey is even more conscious of the stench clinging to her. But Rose doesn't wrinkle her nose or make any indication she has even noticed. Instead, she smiles and asks questions about rubber ducks and airplanes (Rey has never even left London; her knowledge on the subject is limited to school books and watching planes fly overhead en route to and from Heathrow) and what Muggle school is really like._

_The platform clock chimes eleven, and the train rattles to life. An endless sea of parents wave as the Hogwarts' Express pulls out of the station. Rey takes a deep breath A new world awaits, she tells herself._

_There's a knock on the glass door of the carriage, and a boy sticks his head in with an apologetic grin. "Sorry, everywhere's full," he tells them. "Is there room for two more of us?"_

_The girls exchange looks, before Rose nods. "Sure."_

_"Awesome! I'm Finn, by the way," the boy says before craning his neck to yell, "Hey Solo, beat you to it! Looks like the Chocolate Frogs are on you!"_

_"Shut it Skywalker," a voice grumbles._

_Finn slides into the carriage, and plops himself down on the seat beside Rose. "Don't mind my cousin, ladies. He's perpetually grumpy but there's a heart in there somewhere."_

_Said cousin appears in the doorway, blushing and scowling. Even the tips of his large ears - not quite hidden by his dark hair - are scarlet. He clutches a copy of_ **_Hogwarts: A History_ ** _to his chest like a shield._

_Everything about this other boy looks expensive - from the cut of his jumper to the shining leather cover of the book. Privilege drips from his every pore, and Rey feels butterflies beat frantically in her stomach._

_Rose introduces them as the boy slumps down in the seat beside Rey. His eyes roam over her, as if scrutinizing her, looking for fault. The attention causes her to bristle, before he cautiously extends a hand to her._

_"Hi," he says in a meek tone. "I'm Ben."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip down memory lane for Rey... But will they find the information they need to stop Sidious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading/commenting/leaving kudos on this fic. I am immensely grateful for your support. Let the pain train continue!
> 
> Special thanks again to my beloved friend and beta [Rey_Lo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rey_Lo/pseuds/Rey_Lo) for her support and friendship.
> 
> Content Warning: Discussion of child neglect/abandonment and parental addiction; some implied sexual content (although I don't state their age specifically, Ben and Rey are 18 at the time); and a spousal argument.
> 
> (P.S. I posted a [Twitter microfic](https://twitter.com/AndrinaNightsh1/status/1359238209625022468) related to this AU the other day...)

_The Sorting Hat's voice still rings in Rey's ears as she is led to the Gryffindor table. guided to the Gryffindor table. Everything about this day feels surreal - the train, the Castle, the floating candles and enchanted ceiling overhead. As she watches the Sorting Ceremony continue, fingers crossed beneath the table as she listens for the names of her new friends being called…_

**_Friends_** _. The word feels cozy in her heart. There was a genuine warmth to Rose and Finn as they had chatted with her on the Hogwarts Express. Part of it, she supposed, was fascination that she had grown up amongst Muggles. Once the novelty of that had worn away, she hoped they wouldn’t abandon her. Or worse, still hang around out of pity more than affection. She had swallowed that bitter pill too many times with former classmates._

_As for Ben… well, she couldn’t work out if he was shy, snobby or some combination of the two. He had been taciturn during their journey, nose tucked in his book even though Rey was sure she had caught him staring at her at least once._

_She is torn from her thoughts when the name, “Skywalker, Finn” is read out by Professor Mothma. The Great Hall erupts into a chorus of whispers. There are cheers - few louder than Rey’s own - when the Sorting Hat proclaims him a Gryffindor. He slips into the seat beside her and squeezes her hand in anticipation as Momtha calls, “Solo, Ben,”... only for a frustrated groan to escape Finn when his cousin is announced as a Ravenclaw. She feels a similar sting of disappointment when Rose becomes a Hufflepuff._

_“Double blow,” Finn says with a shrug, before flashing her a smile. “Still, at least we’ve got each other.”_

_But all through dinner, Rey is certain she can feel Ben Solo’s eyes on her._

* * *

_"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Finn mutters as he and Rey shuffle awkwardly into the dungeon for their inaugural Potions class. They had intended to get there early and snag a bench at the back of the classroom. "It's embarrassing enough when your Dad's the teacher,"Finn had lamented, "Imagine if I had to spend the next five years of lessons sitting right in front of his desk!"_

_Rey had laughed half-heartedly, if only to quench the jealous sting she felt. Having one’s parents as your teachers - and the entire school knowing it, based on the excited whispers that had followed the announcement of Finn's name at the Sorting Ceremony - was bound to be an occasional source of awkwardness, she supposed. Still, that was a nicer thing to be embarrassed over than them turning up drunk to parent’s night. Or your school nativity. Or not turning up at all, and letting you go to school with an empty belly and the stench of smoke and mould clinging to your uniform._

_But Finn's plans had gone awry thanks to a wrong turn in the corridor, and now they were late. She sees his gaze frantically dart around the classroom for any free seats. The back rows are fully occupied, and there are only three empty chairs in the classroom. One at the end of a bench with some Ravenclaw girls… and two at the bench right up front, either side of a dark haired student._

_Professor Skywalker is currently leaning against his desk, arms folded and a sardonic smile on his lips. "Mr Skywalker, Miss Niima," he says gently. "Let me guess - you tried to take a shortcut down the second floor corridor?"_

_Finn is equal parts mortified and dumbstruck. It is Rey who squeaks out "Yes, Professor. Sorry!" Instinctively, she flinches. Her stomach knots at the thought of ending up with detention before her first week here is even over…_

_But the teacher's eyes are kind, and there is no reprimand in his tone."The corridors in Hogwarts sometimes have a mind of their own. And the second floor corridor is a bugger, especially on Fridays." He gestures to the empty seats up front. "Luckily, Mr Solo was generous enough to save you both a seat in the front row."_

_"You're a dick Ben," Finn mumbles as he drops his school bag to the floor; the pewter cauldron making a noisy clatter against the tiles. "You do realise you've hexed yourself in the foot, right?"_

_"Don't care," Ben retorts with a smile that Rey finds irritatingly smug. "It'll be worth it to see you squirm for the rest of the year!"_

_Any further familial sniping is cut off when Professor Skywalker clears his throat._

_"What you have to understand about magic," he says in a tone that has the class immediately captivated, "Is that fancy words and wand work are only a small part of it. Magic exists all around us, flows through us like a river. It's a force as essential as gravity, an element as necessary as water or air. Wizards like to think they have control over magic; but we have barely scratched the surface. Most of us need those wands and words to help us wield that power; and many, in their arrogance, believe that having those makes them superior to other magical beings. But look at the house elf - they can Apparate and levitate and perform any wonder of feats as easily as breathing. Look at the centaur - they can divine the future from the stars alone, without need of teacups or crystal balls. Our wandwork is pitiful and pedestrian in comparison. Now," he says, beginning to pace before where Rey, Ben and Finn are seated, "You might be wondering why I'm starting your magical education by belittling what we wizards and witches can do?" A chuckle escapes him. "I don't do it to dishearten you; merely to humble you and give you a grounding before other voices try to feed you a less nuanced view of the world."_

_"Potions isn't like your other classes. You can't turn teacups into kittens, or make a key whistle in this classroom. What you do here may not seem like magic at all. But - and this, my dear pupils is important to heed - you can create as much kindness or mischief or even pain with what you learn here as you can in any other class. I won't teach you to levitate a feather, but what you learn here may save a life; mend a broken heart; or even put a stopper in death…"_

_"Now," he says with a bright smile, "I do hate to disappoint, but we won't be making any Amortentia or Draught of Living Death today. Those are N.E.W.T. level assignments. We will however be starting with that most thrilling and exciting potion of all - the Cure for Boils. Don't worry though - you get to work in pairs for this one!" Suddenly, a frown creases the Professor's features, and she watches him count quietly to himself. "Huh," he says, rubbing a hand over his lightly stubbled chin. "We have an odd number, so one group will have to work as a… three." His eyes fall on Finn, Ben and Rey sitting in the front row, and he chews his lip for a moment. "Mr Skywalker," and Finn cringes at being singled out by his father, "If you wouldn't mind joining Miss Pava and Miss Connix in the third row?"_

_A relieved “_ **_ha”_ ** _escapes Finn’s lips, and he hurriedly packs up his things and moves to join the Ravenclaw girls. Ben, on the other hand, looks completely thunderstruck._

_Professor Skywalker bends over and whispers, “Don't take it personally kid, but there's no way in Hell I'm risking you boys working together - especially not after the incident Erumpent horn. Besides,” he adds, flashing a smile at Rey. “I think you and Miss Niima will get along great.”_

_Rey reaches for the mortar and pestle; plucks out the six snake fangs required; and begins to pound them into dust._

_“You’re doing it wrong!” Ben snaps, placing a hand on her wrist._

_She yanks her arm from his grasp. “I’m doing it fine!”_

_“That’s not how you use a mortar and pestle! Merlin’s beard, how can you not know that?”_

_And those little voices of anxiety, that whispered to her that she wasn’t good enough, are now screaming._

_“Sorry I’m not from some long line of wizards and wasn’t taught potion making in my crib,” Rey says crisply, adding more vigour to her actions._

_Ben runs a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant - I’m not one of those - I don’t care that you’re Muggleborn,” he stammers. “But it’s no different from mincing garlic. Didn’t your parents ever teach you how to cook?”_

_Rey bites her tongue to silence the rant that threatens to spill forth._ **_I taught myself how to heat up beans from a tin,_ ** _she wanted to yell at him,_ **_And I taught myself how to shoplift them too when there wasn’t any food at home._ **

_Instead, she mutters, “Then you can slice the Pungous Onions yourself, since you’re the expert,” and refuses to communicate with him beyond the occasional grunt._

**_Arrogant bastard,_ ** _she thinks. Professor Tano had warned her about witches and wizards like this - those who felt that a prestigious lineage made them better than Muggleborns like her. And she had warned Rey to pay them no mind, and_ **_certainly_ ** _not to let them bully or browbeat her._

_Rey tosses a handful of Shrake spines into their cauldron. Maybe Professor Skywalker will let her choose a new partner before the next practical, she thinks as she begins to stir the potion._

_“No Rey, you need to slow-” Ben’s next words are cut off as the contents of their cauldron begin to bubble dangerously, before it belches pink snoke. “Shit, shit!” And suddenly they are both covered in sticky blue liquid._

_Quick as a flash, Professor Skywalker has appeared at their side, banishing the potion and smoke with a lazy flick of his wand._

_“And that is what overexcited Shrake spines look like,” he says dryly. “Happens every year.”_

_She can feel the class staring at them, pointing and laughing. Not one week here and she has made an idiot of herself. Just like those voices told her she would._

_She turns to snarl at Ben, only for a surprised laugh to bubble out of her. Every inch of his face - and even his hands and exposed forearms - is covered in gigantic, oozing boils. And, with deepening humiliation, Rey realises that her own skin is similarly afflicted._

_“Settle down class,” Professor Skywalker announces in a surprisingly firm tone. “I hope Mr Solo and Miss Niima show greater kindness when something similar happens to each of you. Because everyone- even me! - leaves Hogwarts with a story of some magical mishap.”_

_And even once their teacher has made them drink the antidote, and their skins are once more blemish free, Rey knows one thing with absolute certainty._

_She is going to hate Ben Solo forever._

* * *

_The clock in the entrance hall chimed midnight; Rey's jumper was soaked in sweat, her back aching, and she was convinced that the smell of Madame Glossy's Silver Polish had permanently seeped into her skin. She eyes the enormous Triwizard Championship Trophy she has just finished polishing with a critical eye._

_Cleaning every trophy in the_ **_enormous_ ** _cabinet - and without magic too! - was a most cruel and unusual punishment. Still, Rey would have borne it stoically if not for the additional torment of having to do it alongside Ben bloody Solo._

_It was her own fault, she thinks sourly. All she had to do was ignore him, and eventually he would get no enjoyment out of needling her and move onto someone else._

_But Rey had never learned how to back down from a fight. By the time their last verbal sparring match had devolved into her challenging him to a duel, no amount of Rose or Finn trying to talk sense into them both would cause her to relent. The satisfaction of wiping that smug grin off Ben Solo’s face was a tantalising prize…_

_Unfortunately, the deputy headmistress being caught in the crossfire of his Jelly Legs Jinx and her Pimple Jinx had led to a somewhat less satisfying end to their battle… The sight of Professor Mothma's face covered in red and purple flailing tentacles was permanently burned onto her brain._

_She sighs, and looks at him through narrowed eyes. His hair is askew, his t-shirt stained with perspiration and there is a smear of grease on his right cheek. He holds a Quidditch trophy in his hand, and there is something almost_ ** _wistful_** _in his gaze._

_When he makes no move to resume his half of the cleaning, Rey chucks a rag at him. “Hey Solo,” she tells him, ignoring his indigent squawk, “Stop fucking around, and let's just get this over with.”_

_“What, you aren’t loving this scintillating, angry silence?” He retorts, albeit without heat. “Because this is the highlight of my week!”_

_Before Rey can muster a sufficiently barbed comeback, the sound of laughter fills the air. Both teenagers turn their gaze on the figure of Professor Tano, leaning against the door column and grinning at them._

_“I heard raised voices. Why am I not remotely surprised that it’s you two here?” Their teacher says, shaking her head._

_Both of them squirm, unsure how to react to her words._

_“How long have you been at this for?” Professor Tano asks, coming to sit between them on the tiled floor._

_“Since lights out,” Ben tells her._

_“Well, I think you’ve probably earned a short break.” With a flick of her wand, she summons a tray with three mugs of hot chocolate, and a plate of shortbread._

_A gnarl of suspension unfurls in Rey’s chest._ ** _Is this a trick?_** _She wonders as Professor Tano hands her one of the mugs. Is there some potion stirred in with the drink? Something to transform her and Ben into animals or babies or something else entirely, as an extra layer of punishment for their transgression._

_“No trick,” Professor Tano says with a soft smile. “Just a teacher taking pity on two kids who I hope have learned a lesson from this.” She takes a slow sip of her drink, and begins to dunk one of the biscuits in her mug. "So," she says conversationally, "Why do you think Mothma gave you both this detention?”_

_An incredulous look passes between Ben and Rey._

_“So, umm…” Ben begins, “We sort of-”_

_Professor Tano cuts him off with a soft chuckle. “Oh, I know about_ **_why_ ** _you’re in detention.” She shakes her head. “Dueling in the corridor, really?” Both students look at her sheepishly. “I’m asking why this_ **_particular_ ** _type of detention, as opposed to just writing lines or sorting out flobberworms for Potions class?”_

_“Because half of these trophies and medals were given out to my family,” Ben says in a voice that Rey had to strain to hear. “And I’ll never be able to live up to that.”_

_“Oh, Ben,” the Professor sighs. “Amazingly, every word in that sentence was wrong. So very,_ **_very_ ** _wrong…” She turns to Rey. “Any thoughts, Miss Niima?”_

_Rey shrugs; in the face of Ben’s quiet declaration, her words now seem asinine. “I thought that she was doubly punishing us by making us work together.”_

_“You’re both smart kids - two of the sharpest I’ve come across in all my years of teaching if I’m being honest - but apparently both colossal idiots as well.” She shakes her head. Her knees give a creak as she stands up. "Come with me, I want to show you both something. "_

_She beckons them to follow her, and leads them a short distance to the largest cabinet - the one Ben had been working at. Its shelves heave with a century’s worth of Quidditch trophies, and medals for a myriad of other magical achievements. Rey marvels that the glass can hold such weight. But then again, magic makes almost anything possible._

_Professor Tano waves her hand over a Quidditch trophy from some fifty years ago - a Gryffindor victory. Rey puzzles over it before spotting a familiar name engraved upon the metal. “You were a Quidditch player?”she says._

_A sly smile fills her teacher’s lips. “I was a_ **_great_ ** _Quidditch player - up until Mr Dameron’s three minute victory last season, I held the record for the fastest Snitch catch in Hogwarts history. But we’re not here to talk up my past sporting glories. Mr Solo - do you see another familiar name on that trophy?”_

_Ben swallows; nods. “My grandfather.”_

_Rey glances again, and wonders at how she missed the name “Skywalker” emblazoned on the trophy._

_“Indeed,” Professor Tano says. “Anakin and I co-captained Gryffindor to three consecutive victories.” Her voice takes on a wistful tone. “He was my best friend; the closest thing I had to a brother. But we didn’t start out that way. We fought_ **_constantly_ ** _. A bit like two other youngsters not a million miles from here.” A single eyebrow arches as she looks at her errant charges. “Do you think we’d have won all those matches if we spent every training session squabbling like hippogriffs over the last scrap of meat?”_

_“No, Professor,” they chime together._

_“No indeed. And perhaps you could both reflect on that whilst you clean the remainder of these trophies.” She sighs heavily. “I know you’re only thirteen… but have you given any thought as to what you want to do in the future?”_

_Out of the corner of her eye, Rey watches as Ben shuffles awkwardly. “Well, I think my mum wants me to be an Auror,” he says, gaze downcast._

_“But what do you want, Ben?”_

_The words are soft, as though he is struggling to give his desires a voice. “I suppose…” he hesitates, rubbing one hand against an arm, “I’d like to keep studying magic, learning to push the boundaries. Write books on my discoveries. See the world.” His pale skin is flushed to the very tips of his ears._

_“A noble - and important - goal, and one for which I think you are well-suited,” Professor Tano says kindly, before turning to face Rey. “And you, my dear?”_

_“I don’t really know,” she says. Perhaps she might feel freer talking about this if her only audience was the teacher. Discussing her childish career aspirations in front of her mortal enemy is uncomfortable at best; and likely to be a source of derision once Professor Tano is out of earshot…_

_But Ben had been candid - uncomfortably so - about his dreams and ambitions. As irritating as she finds him, he had trusted her with this. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to share a bit of herself too?_

_“When I was little, I wanted to be a doctor,” Rey says, in a tone laced with bitterness. “But kids from where I grew up don’t get to be doctors.”_

_Professor Tano gives a single nod. She alone, out of everyone at Hogwarts, knows what Rey’s life outside of school is like. The stench of decay and poverty and neglect. But she doesn’t press; instead, she gives Rey a single squeeze on the shoulder._

_“Well, my experience with your Muggle doctors is limited,” her teacher says, “But I think you have the potential to be a damn good Healer, if the notion takes you. Which brings me nicely to my point, actually…” Her gaze flickers between both teenagers. “The way you two fight, that takes_ **_effort._ ** _Stop wasting so much time and energy on hating one another, and channel that into your dreams instead. Or, Merlin forbid, try being friends.”_

_Rey snorts at that, but a contrite look fills her face when she realises Professor Tano has heard._

_“You two kids are so alike… If you would only find a way to work together, and put all this petty dueling and rag-throwing behind you... You would not only become good friends, but you could do spectacular things together. Something to mull over whilst you're cleaning.”_

* * *

_Her clothes, her books - even her dutifully written summer homework - lie stuffed in two bin bags at her feet. The bus shelter provides little protection against the rain. Her threadbare t-shirt is soaked through, but she won’t risk any water damage to her already ruined belongings by rummaging for a cardigan._

_And Rey can at least pretend it is only the rain wetting her cheeks._

_She stares at BeeBee’s empty cage, missing him desperately and longing for his comfort. It felt like hours since she had sent him off with a letter. Rose and her family were almost certainly still visiting her cousins in Vietnam and wouldn’t be able to come to her aid; and she has no idea how long it would take BeeBee to fly from London to Scotland, but right now, Finn was her only hope._

_She shivers, and prays the owl arrives before nightfall. What she will do if he doesn’t is a notion she refuses to contemplate._

_The word_ **_freak_ ** _echoes in her mind, and she huddles into herself for comfort._

_A few cars pass, and she feels the penetrating stares of their passengers. After all, it’s not every day one sees a crying teenager with a birdcage and all her earthly belongings sitting at a bus stop, even in London. But no one even stops to ask if she is all right._

_The rain grows heavier; the sky darkens. Hunger gnaws at her stomach, and she settles into the realisation that no one is coming. She has nothing; not even the money to even make her way to Diagon Alley and hope for the kindness of a stranger once she gets there._

_Insane as it sounds, she contemplates transfiguring the bus stop pole into a snake; something that would have officials from the Improper Use of Magic swooping down on her. A night in a cell was preferable - and safer - than a night on the streets. But trepidation stills her hand. Would a violation of the International Statute of Secrecy - and the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery as well - be reason to expel her from Hogwarts altogether?_

_So she tucks her wand back into her pocket, and imagines her dreams washing away with the rainwater…_

_Until a familiar voice calls her name._

_Rey’s eyes snap upwards to the figure running towards her in the rain; his hair soaked and his eyes filled with relief._

_“You’re soaked!” Ben tells her, ripping off his waterproof jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. An unfamiliar - but strangely pleasant - scent clings to the garment, and to him._

_“What…?” She asks numbly as he sinks onto the bench beside her. Gratitude and embarrassment war within her. Of all the people in all the wizarding world, why did it have to be Ben bloody Solo coming to her rescue?_

_“Finn got your letter," he says to her unspoken question. "We’ve been looking for you for over an hour. Merlin’s beard Rey, what happened?”_

_She is spared the indignity of explaining that her parents had kicked out their freak daughter when Finn’s voice fills the air._

_“She’s here!” He calls out to some unknown figure, before racing towards the bus shelter and enfolding her in his arms. She buries her face in his shoulder, letting tears mingle with the rainwater on his jacket. “Hey, it’s OK. You’re safe. You’re with us.”_

_“Your parents are utter bastards, kid,” an unfamiliar voice says. “Point me in their direction and I’ll give them a piece of my mind. Throwing out your own kid - in this weather too!”_

_Rey cranes her neck. An older man - perhaps fifty - stands before them. His eyes are kind, and achingly familiar…_

_“My Uncle Han,” Finn whispers into her hair. “He insisted on coming when he, uh… caught us." Before she can press for details, Finn turns to his Uncle. "Can you bring the car around?”_

_“Can you even remember where you parked it?” Ben mutters._

_“Don’t get smart, kid. There’s an underground station just around the corner if you want to make your own way home.”_

_The car turns out to be a battered looking Ford Falcon that - even to Rey's amateurish eyes - looks barely functional. It's engine gives an unpleasant splutter as the car pulls into the bus lane._

_Finn’s Uncle Han - Ben’s father - insists she take the front seat whilst the boys pack her sodden belongings into the car boot._

_“I meant what I said,” Han tells Rey, passing her a packet of tissues from the glove compartment. “That was a shitty thing your parents did, and I’m of half a mind to tell them as much to their faces.”_

_“Get in line, Dad,” Ben replies, a sour look etched onto his features. In the dim light, Rey notices a few small nicks on his cheek, and that strange earthy smell is even more potent in this enclosed space._

_“Yeah, because three men turning up to kick their door in isn’t going to lead to us being arrested,” Finn deadpans, reaching forward to rub Rey’s shoulder. “Let’s just go home.”_

_At that moment, Rey’s stomach gives a loud growl. She hides her face in mortification._

_“You know,” Han says thoughtfully, “We passed a Mcdonald's on the way here, and I think they have a drive through… What’d you say to a Happy Meal and a hot chocolate, Rey?”_

_“We’re not five years old, Dad,” Ben says, even as Rey nods._

_“You’ll have to forgive my son,” Han tells her, “Started shaving today - and took a bath in my good aftershave too, by the smell of things! - and apparently he’s now a man. By the way, remind me to ground him when we get home.”_

_“For stealing aftershave?!” Ben practically shrieks._

_“For trying to steal the damn car, kid.” Han then turns and points a finger at Finn. “And don’t think your parents don’t have similar plans for you, young man.”_

_Rey feels a laugh bubble up from her chest. She is certain that she sounds positively deranged, but_ **_oh_ ** _it feels good to be out of the rain. She burrows deeper into Ben’s borrowed coat whilst the boys bicker over sandalwood and stolen cars, just relieved to be safe._

* * *

_A cloud of pearlescent steam curls up from the cauldron. She closes her eyes; breathes deeply. It smells of the familiarity; long hours in the library pouring over ancient tomes, of fresh ink… of the dizzying musk of sandalwood._

_That thought jolts her; she risks a glance at the hunched figure swearing over his own cauldron; shirt sleeves rolled up to expose his milky skin and muscular forearms; hair in disarray from his anxious attentions._

_She locks that sight away. Amortentia can’t be wrong… Can it?_

* * *

_Low afternoon sun filters through the windows of their Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. A gaggle of silvery Patronuses canter and skitter and race around the room. Rey watches her fox snap at and tease another, and searches through her peers to work out whose Patronus it is._

_Her heart twists when she sees the second fox bound over the desks and stop dutifully at Ben’s feet._

* * *

_The tree bark scratches her skin, even through the fabric of her blouse. But the softness of Ben's lips as they plunder her mouth is sufficient distraction._

_He moves his kisses along her jawline, down her throat to swallow the filthy moans forming there. Moans of "yes" and "Ben" and "More"._

_"May I touch you?" He whispers against her collarbone, sucking the flesh there hard enough to bruise._

_A nod is her answer, so lost in the pressure of his sinful mouth on her skin._

_For all the confidence of his kisses, his right hand is tentative as he plays with the hem of her pleated skirt. Even the brush of his fingertips against the cool flesh of her thighs is a pleasure. He plays with the edge of her underwear for a minute that feels like a lifetime before yanking it aside and touching the aching wetness between her legs. Whose moan - hers or his - is loudest, Rey doesn't know. Or care._

_The world has narrowed to him; his clever fingers and luscious mouth and hot breath, and the explosions of pleasure he is wringing from her._

* * *

_"Where are you taking me?" Rey asks for the dozenth time in the last hour. At least._

_But Ben remains steadfast in his silence. Seeing his face with that mask of Occlumency in place is jarring._

_"You've got a dreadful poker face, kid," Han would often tell him._

_And he was right. Ben's eyes and expressions would always betray his feelings. Whilst Rey had understood why that had driven him to learn Occlumency in the first place, he had never utilised it with her before. But even magic cannot disguise the nervous bob in his throat._

_And her stomach suddenly feels full of lead._

_It's been weeks since they had a day off together - his Auror training and her long, arduous shifts as an apprentice healer seemed to conspire to keep them apart. Today, Rey had intended for them to not even leave her bed, to make up for those weeks of aching lonely nights. And their morning had been pleasant enough - more than pleasant. He had taken his time to thoroughly reacquaint himself with her body, to their mutual delight. She had been extremely grateful for the noise cancelling Charm in place on the bedroom door._

_"It's bad enough that I_ **_know_ ** _you're shagging my cousin," Finn had grumped one morning shortly after Rey had moved in. "But I could do without the auditory experience of it too!"_

 _Far from his objectionable volume during their lovemaking, the Ben currently tugging her hand down a residential street in Muggle London is positively taciturn. In the years they had spent dating, he has never been as closed off as this. Those little voices of doubt start to purr in her mind again._ **_He doesn't want you. Everyone leaves you in the end._ **

_She bites down on her curiosity when he leads her up the stairs of a high end apartment block. When they reach the topmost floor, they stop before a blue door with a silver lion's head knocker. She watches with interest as the knocker yawns and says in a scraping metallic tone, " **The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin."** _

_Ben clears his throat. " **The guests are met, the feast is set: May'st hear the merry din."** _

_The door swings open, and he holds his hand out to Rey._

_"Whose house is this?" She asks, as he leads her through the hallway of the elegant flat. Although the surfaces are spotless, it lacks that lived in feel of other houses._

_"It belongs to the family," is the cryptic answer he gives. He leads her into a spacious living room, and again until they reach a balcony. Clearly it must be enchanted- it is at least as large as the house itself, and teeming with flowers and plants both Muggle and Magical. She hasn't seen such an array of greenery outside of the Herbology greenhouses from their schooldays. They reach the bench at the far end and sit down. "My grandfather bought it when he and my grandmother were newly married. A home to raise their family."_

_Ben rarely mentions his grandfather; she understands why, given the horrifying secrets he had divulged to her of his family's history._

_"No one's lived here since my grandmother died; she never got to raise her children here. Mum and Uncle Luke didn't want it when they came of age. It's been lying empty for decades. But I like it here - it's peaceful. Close enough to the city, but when I sit here, I could be in a different world." He closes his eyes and sighs._

_If she weren't so confused and agitated, she would make a barbed comment about being affluent enough to have a house just lying empty in central London. Not to mention one large enough to have housed her childhood home several times over…_

_But again, she watches that nervous swallow of his. Dread bubbles and broils in her gut._

_This ending was inevitable, she supposed. She had been exhausted, stressed, too bogged down in her books and long hours to give their relationship the time it deserved. Everyone left Rey. Ben doing so was inevitable._

_He gets up; and she becomes fascinated with a flutterby bush that looks in need of some love. Tears sting at her eyes. God, she wishes he would just get it over with…_

_But when Rey turns to look at him, he's on his knees on the stone, all facade of Occlumency gone and a look of heartbreaking vulnerability on his face. In the afternoon sun, she spots a glint of gold in his hand._

_And before he can utter the question she is kissing him, all hot tears and a laugh like liquid sunlight._

* * *

_The air is heavy with salt and trepidation as she follows Qui-Gon up a steep cliff side. The necklace in her pocket feels unnaturally heavy; but she knows the weight of the soul it contains._

_The wind whips her hair into her face as they approach the cave mouth._

_“Stay close, Rey,” the older wizard says. “To borrow a Muggle phrase, Ahch-To is a minefield of enchantments. There are dangers aplenty ahead of us before we reach our destination.”_

* * *

_Ben kneels before her, his face buried in her abdomen, fingers gripping her hips hard enough to bruise._

_"Please," he says in a muffled, tear-choked voice. He lifts his eyes to hers, and the pain in them tears at her heart. “Run away with me; we’ll find an Unplottable island, and just live there.”_

_“We can’t just run away, love,” Rey says, shaking her head. “The Order needs us. We have responsibilities here.”_

_“My only responsibility is to you,” he says, standing and taking her face in his hands. “To keep you safe.” His voice cracks. “If anything happened to you…” He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “Of all the reckless decisions you could have made-”_

* * *

_“You never even wanted to be an Auror in the first place!”_

_“Rey, look out the window! There’s a war on! People are dying, and Sidious is only getting stronger! We have to stand up to him. That’s why I became an Auror.”_

_“So I’m not standing up to him? I’m just living in happy ignorant bliss whilst my_ **_brave, strong_ ** _husband duels Dark Wizards to protect me? Glad to know what you think of me!” She starts to storm off, ignoring his spluttered explanations, before turning baleful eyes on him. “I’m not some precious child that needs to be coddled. I’m just as powerful as you are.” And because she can’t help herself, the words keep spilling forth like poison. “And you didn’t become an Auror to protect people, or stand up to Sidious; not really. This is about you and all your fucking family guilt.“_

_The last thing she hears before slamming the bedroom door is a sob ripping from his throat._

* * *

_It’s past midnight when he creeps into their bed; even in half-sleep, she instinctively reaches for him. His clothes are cold, as are the lips pressing butterfly kisses to her hairline. But she nuzzles closer, drinks in his scent. The smell of home._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispers against her temple._

_“Me too,” Rey murmurs, snaking her arms around him. “But you can’t tell me what I can and cannot do, nor what sacrifices I’m allowed to make. Even if I know it comes from a place of love.” She rubs a hand over his heart, feeling the constancy of his pulse, and the buttery soft cashmere of his jumper._

_Ben sighs. “I know.”_

_“And if we let the war out there come between us,” she says, hoping he sees the sincerity in her gaze, “Then Sidious still wins. Remember what Ahsoka told us?”_

_He chuckles; as does she. Merlin’s beard, it feels indecently good to laugh after the turbulence of earlier. “She said if you stopped throwing dirty rags at me-” And she playfully whacks him on the shoulder, “We’d reach our full potential. Or something like that. I wasn’t really listening - I just wanted her to go away so that I could try chatting you up.”_

_“I would have thrown another rag at you,” Rey says. “Although… think of how many years of this,” and she leans up to kiss him softly, “We lost because of my-”_

_“Intransigence?” Ben raises an eyebrow at her, and she makes a mock show of being in a huff._

_“I prefer wilful and headstrong nature, thank you very much. But you’re ruining a tender moment,_ **_husband,_ ** _” she retorts. “My point is… I don’t want to lose another minute with you, when we don’t know how many we might have left.”_

_Her words hang in the air, and she feels his arms tighten around her._

_With ice-cold fingers, he tilts her chin and brushes a soft kiss to her lips. “I asked Phasma to cover my shift tomorrow,” he says. “I thought we could spend the day together, do whatever you want. Maybe we could go to Paris for the day? Or the beach? Anything you want.”_

_Rey hums for a moment. “Honestly, I’d be happy for just a long lie and a walk to the park. Nothing special. Just us.”_

* * *

She is a creature of pure pain. Her head hurts. Her heart hurts. Her soul feels like it has been wrenched apart and shoddily glued back together.

She tries to sit up, but even that minuscule effort is too much. Gentle hands brush away hair from her clammy brow, and her nostrils fill with the scent of sandalwood.

Rey opens her eyes. Though her vision is hazy at the edges, she sees her husband. 

Grief is a raw wound. Her tattered heart wants to push him away, to curl into herself and shut out the agony threatening to consume her. But her body yearns to pull him close, to relearn his kiss and touch and love as he moves inside her.

 _Thank Merlin that Finn and Rose are here_ , she thinks as Ben helps her to sit up on the bed, passes her a glass of water which she gulps greedily.

“How do you feel?” He asks.

“Like someone drilled a hole in my head and stuffed it full of memories,” she retorts, massaging her temple as if to soothe the ache deep in her brain. “The textbooks don’t tell you how much it fucking hurts.”

Ben kneels at her feet, head bowed. The very picture of contrition. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says in a hoarse whisper.

Before Rey can launch herself at him - in anger, in relief, in fury, or even in love - Rose appears and begins quizzing her. Her name, her date of birth, the current Minister for Magic, how to treat bites from a Venomous Tentacula, and an otherwise senseless myriad of questions. But Rey understands. 

"I don't think you've given me brain damage," she tells her friend.

Rose gives her a watery smile. "Good. I'd never forgive myself…" but then she trails off. 

Feeling stronger, Rey stands, and is pleasantly surprised at her ability to stay upright despite the dizziness and pounding in her head. She heads to the half-empty wardrobe and rummages for a thick, waterproof cloak, swinging it over her shoulders.

A look of worry crosses Finn, Rose and Ben's faces simultaneously. 

"What-" Ben starts, but she holds up a hand to silence him. 

One memory pierces through the jumbled haze. Of a bloodstained teddy bear clutched against a small boy’s chest. Of the burning sense of impotence she had felt earlier; now the cool purpose and resolve to end this suffering. _Tonight_.

"Come on," Rey says. "We've got a Horcrux to destroy. "

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for you reading!
> 
> I also post a selection of [Reylo-themed Harry Potter microfics](https://twitter.com/AndrinaNightsh1/status/1325090822778462209) over on my Twitter! (Warning: sweetness and teenage pining abounds!)


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